


blacklight

by tkayo



Category: Original Work
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-16
Updated: 2020-12-10
Packaged: 2020-12-17 13:14:39
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 27
Words: 105,211
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21054992
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tkayo/pseuds/tkayo
Summary: So here’s the deal: my name is Kihri Vyas, and I’m dead.(That’s not really important, it happened ages ago, but it’s good to have the context.)Anyway, me and my sister Zarah (the only person who can see or hear me) have basically been on our own since I kicked the bucket, surviving on the streets of Kaila and sort of just being miserable and bored and tired a lot. I mean, I haven’t, cause I’m dead, but she has. It sucks, but that’s business as usual for us.What isn’t B-A-U is that a bunch of other homeless folks have been disappearing in the last few months, and some of them have been turning up with anatomically-improbable, but extraordinary fatal, injuries. Cops don’t give a shit, of course, and my sister’s a boneheaded bleeding heart, so we’ve been investigating them ourselves. And, well, we’ve found a bunch of weird shit. Stuff made of solid light, ghost attack dogs, people glowingblack, somehow, some kind of living robot…Actually, you know what?It’s probably easier if you see for yourself.next update: TBA





	1. Adulthood

**Author's Note:**

> blacklight is my ongoing webserial - I'm putting it on here so i have somewhere that it's easier to read the full chapters because the slightly eclectic update schedule can make that difficult normally  


**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we meet three people, one alive and two dead

Zarah Vyas came to a stop directly in front of yet another corpse.

It was a young man this time, dressed similar to her in thick, ragged clothing. His face was frozen in a mask of mild shock and alarm, as if someone had said something insulting to him.

Considering the large hole in his torso, it seemed distinctly underwhelming.

“Same as the others?” Kihri’s voice asked from above her.

Zarah looked up to see her sister’s face, identical to her own save the scar across her mouth, poking out of the concrete of the bridge above them. Her choppy white bangs hung down towards the ground, and in the low light, her normally-translucent form was clear and solid.

“Same as the others,” she confirmed.

Kihri made a face. “You know, one of these days we’re actually going to find another ghost, and as soon as we do, I’m fucking gone.”

Zarah tried to chuckle, but couldn’t find it in her. “No, you are not.”

“…gotta take the fun out of everything, huh. No, I guess I’m not.” Her face disappeared back through the concrete, leaving Zarah alone with the corpse.

She sighed, bending over to get a closer look. The wound was about two handspans wide, and not perfectly circular but close enough to not matter. Again, like the others. And again, strewn through the viscera, those threads of blue.

The first few times, she hadn’t touched them at all. Partially out of respect, to not taint or corrupt their providence before it could be burned, but also out of fear – if the police found her fingerprints on the bodies, she doubted her explanation would hold water. Or even be considered.

It seemed a little naive, in hindsight. Kihri had been right – if anyone had even found the bodies, there definitely hadn’t been any investigations. Her sister was bitter and cynical, but… usually right. _Almost_ _always right_, she admitted to herself.

With a heavy sigh, she closed her eyes. “<Let them find their place,>” she whispered softly, bringing her hands to her face, “<and trouble not those who have found balance.>” She kissed the back of each hand softly, letting the warm breath wash over them, then reached down and slowly pulled the ruined clothing away from the wound, exposing the skin.

“Ugh,” Kihri complained as she reappeared from above, floating down fully into view, “seriously? Still?”

“I do not know why you keep expecting me to suddenly renounce my faith based on nothing at all,” Zarah replied absently, slowly beginning to peel the corpse’s ruined clothes away from the wound. “Hm. Look at this.” She pointed to the exposed flesh around the hole. “There is… almost ridiculously a lack of bruising here.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” Kihri replied sourly, slowly flipping around to align herself with the ground, “I guess I just hope that every new pointless death will be the one to finally realise what a fucking sham everything is. Also, it’s creepy how excited you sound by that.”

“…sorry.”

Kihri groaned dramatically. “Please, for the love of god, learn to recognise when I’m busting your ass. You suck the joy out of everything.”

Zarah coughed awkwardly.

“Besides,” Kihri continued, floating closer, “you’re not wrong. Even like a high-powered projectile would bruise more than that. Never seen that scaled up, but whatever that’d look like it’s probably not this.”

“I could say something about you being creepier for knowing that, but I will not. Any guesses?”

“…fell onto a comically large cartoon spike? Impaled by a horny land octopus?”

“So, no.”

“What, you don’t think horny land octopus is a legitimate avenue we should be investigating?”

“If you _have_ to masturbate, do it when I am not around.”

Kihri blinked, then barked out a surprised laugh. “You asshole! I’m supposed to be the funny one.”

“Even if there were someone else who _could _agree with that, they still would not.”

“Low blow.”

“Mm,” Zarah grunted, distracted. “You are right, and I am sorry. But… does he look somewhat familiar to you?”

After a second of silence, she turned to look at Kihri, and found her face scrunched up in concentration.

“Something… about large holes? Getting penetrated? Uhhh, bruising from anal sex?” She gave up, letting out a little puff of air, disappointed. “Dammit, you’ve thrown me off my groove.”

“What a shame. Be serious, though. I am pretty sure I have seen him before.”

Grumbling indecipherably, Kihri moved up closer to the face, and Zarah shuffled obligingly to the side. “Hm,” she said after a moment’s consideration, slowly beginning to orbit the head. “…yeah. Yeah, I think you’re right. I’ve definitely seen this clown before.”

“From one of the shelters, maybe?” Zarah suggested. “Or a kitchen. Also, have some respect, please.”

“What? He’s dead, it’s not like he cares.”

“_You _would care.”

That shut her up. She continued rotating in silence for a few moments, then spoke. “Sorry, dead dude. Also, if you can hear me, don’t ever stick your head inside someone else’s body, cause it’s so gross and you can’t vomit anymore- Oh shit!”

“What?!” Zarah spun around frantically, but couldn’t spot anything out of the ordinary. “What is it?!”

“I know who this schmuck- _person _is!”

“Really?”

She rolled her eyes. “No, I’m just fucking with you. _Yes, _really! He used to hang around the liquor store over on… whatever street, next to the big park with the pine trees.”

Zarah searched her memory, trying to recall anything that fit the description. “…the one with the big neon sign?”

“Yeah! He worked the counter there a while back, I think, and then hung around afterwards on the corner.”

“We… have never been inside that shop, though?”

“Psh. Maybe _you _haven’t.”“Why would you even do that? It is not like you can-”

She cut herself off, just a little too late.

“Gee, thanks,” Kihri said acerbically. “I’d almost forgotten.”

“…sorry.” _Really sticking your foot in your mouth tonight, hm, Zarah? _She was off-kilter, which was annoying – she thought she’d gotten used to the dead bodies by now.

“_For your information_,” Kihri continued, “I like to watch people. It’s entertaining.”

“You… spy on people?”

“It’s not _spying_, it’s just… watching people… who don’t know I’m there. Hm.”

“It is okay,” Zarah said, “I did not mean to-”

“Eh, you know what, I don’t actually care. Who the fuck am I going to tell, you?”

“I would prefer if you did not.”

“My point exactly.” She sighed, shaking her head. “Look, anyway. I guarantee you that it’s him – I’d stake my unlife on it.”

“Hm. What about the others?”

Kihri considered it for a second. “Show me them again?”

Zarah pulled out her phone, and showed it to Kihri, obligingly swiping through the photos when she indicated.

“Nope,” she said once they reached the end. “I’ve got nothing. Doesn’t mean they aren’t from around there, but-”

“-it is a place to start,” Zarah finished with a nod. “I do like that park, too.”

“Ugh, you would, you fucking nerd. Do you want to go now? I can keep watch if you find a bench or something. Ooh, maybe you could sleep in one of the trees, that’d be cool.”

Zarah considered it. It’d save some travel time, but it was late and cold, and even a shitty shelter cot seemed incredibly appealing.

“Is it okay if we go back to Tavesh tonight?” she asked instead.

Kihri groaned. “You and your stupid fleshy body. Fine, whatever. First thing in the morning, though, we’re going to the shop, then. I can’t deal with having to watch you snore and drool _and _waiting for you to finish pottering around in the morning.”

“Deal.” Zarah could already feel sleep threatening to encroach, now that she’d allowed the thought to enter her head, but glancing back down at the body quickly drove it away again.

She knelt, then slowly reached down and gently closed the boy’s eyes. “<May you lie light upon the world,>” she intoned softly. Then, with more feeling, ” <And- I’m sorry.>”

For once, Kihri didn’t comment. “Did you get one of the threads?” she asked instead, once Zarah had risen to her feet.

“Ah, no.” She began rooting around in her pockets. “Which pocket did I put-”

“Left breast."

“Ah, thank you.” Sure enough, she found the tweezers and ziplock bags inside. She withdrew the tweezers and a single bag, then bent back down and carefully extracted one of the blue strands from the wound and placing it in the bag before sealing it. That bag went back into her pocket, but the tweezers went into their own bag, which she sealed and put in a different pocket so she would remember it later.

“All done?” Kihri asked as she zipped the pockets back up.

She nodded. “Good, too, because I am beginning to losing feeling in my toes.”

“Oh, poor thing. Must be so hard, not being able to feel certain things, huh? So tough.”

“Yes, yes. Meet you there?”

Kihri considered it for a second. “Yeah, I think so. Could use the break.” She began to float downwards, passing through the ground. “Stay safe.”

“You too.” Not like it was even possible for her to be in danger, but it was good to say it anyway.

Kihri nodded, then passed entirely from view. Zarah waited a few moments, just to be polite, then began walking.

Shortly, she emerged from underneath the bridge, grimacing as the bitterly cold wind smacked her in the face almost immediately. The night sky was clear and bright above, a deep dark blue with speckles of white here and there, and the warm orange of the cars rumbling over the bridge behind her flickered and strobed through the railings, fighting a futile war against the blue. In the distance, behind the steelworks, the city rose up, dim white lights partitioned into squares and rectangles, and beyond that, the Glasstree Mountains painted a dim silhouette, rising above it all.

It was a strangely comforting sight, and she let herself pause and take it in. After seeing the ugliest parts of the city, of her home, for so long, it was nice to occasionally find the good in it too. That broke the spell, and she resumed walking, fantasising about resting her head. It was at least another hour’s walk to the shelter, and by the time she got there, she’d be lucky to get more than a few hours of sleep before Kihri would be chomping at the bit, but it was better than nothing.

Which, if she was being honest, had been the the running theme of their life for quite a while.

The safest route back into the city was to follow the highway as it curved around the industrial district. It wasn’t the shortest route, not even close, but cutting straight through the steelworks and past the factories was just asking to get robbed, murdered, raped, or all three. Instead, she walked along the bank of the slightly-elevated highway, low enough that she wasn’t easily visible to the passing cars, but high enough for their light to spill over and let her see where she was putting her feet. The last thing she needed was some ‘good samaritan’ spotting her and pulling over. Even if they were genuine, there would be questions, ones with answers that people didn’t tend to like.

No, walking was the best choice. And it wasn’t like she wasn’t good at it – apart from occasional rides on buses or trains when she could spare the fare (and a few ones where she couldn’t), she walked everywhere. Kihri sometimes joked that she’d learn to sleep while walking, like a horse. To which, of course, Zarah would reply that horses can’t do that, and then the whole thing would devolve into an argument about whether either of them had ever seen a horse in real life and whether that mattered.

The memory lifted her mood a little, but mostly it just made her feel lonely.

A horn suddenly blared out from behind her, interrupting her thoughts, and she spun around frantically, just in time to see a small car speeding towards her.

“Ash-head!” a loud voice yelled at her, smug and amused. “Go crawl back under your fucking rock!”

The car had already passed by the time he got to ‘under’, but she’d heard it enough to mentally finish the sentence. Personally, she was just glad that yelling was all he’d done. How had he-

She raised a hand to her head, and then cursed as she realised she’d forgotten to put her hood up.

_Stupid, Zarah. _She flipped it over her head and pulled the drawstrings tight so that the breeze wouldn’t pull it down again. _Stupid._

Kihri would have reminded her. Or, at the very least, yelled at her before it became an issue. Funny, how between the two of them, the dead one was more grounded in reality.

“<So funny,>” she muttered to herself in Pashtari. “<Hilarious.>”

Kihri would’ve chastised her for that too.

But Kihri wasn’t here, so Zarah trudged on alone.


	2. So-Called Friend

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which a loss is mourned and information is gained

“Let’s fucking go already, asshole.”

“<Good morning to you too_,>” _Zarah groaned, rolling over and away.

“Hey!” The brief appearance of spectral fingers in front of her half-closed eyes was the only sign that Kihri had attempted to hit her, and passed straight through. “None of that shit.”

Zarah groaned again, more insistently. “<It’s just us! Why bother?>_”_

“Because it’s good practice, dumbass. And if you did it more, you wouldn’t sound like a fucking automaton.”

“So like you I should talk?” she shot back, annoyed.

“’So I should talk like you?’” Kihri corrected. “Subject, verb, object. Now come on, let’s go already, I hate this fucking place.”

Our Lady Full Of Grace Shelter, or just Tavesh after the street it was located on, was towards the outskirts of Kaila, and thus was generally more likely to have a free cot than ones further in. The city centre and financial districts were the best spots for begging, busking, and applying for jobs, so shelters around there tended to have trouble making enough space for everyone.

That’s not to say that Tavesh was empty, though.

The cot Zarah had collapsed on the previous night, asleep as soon as her head hit, was one of the last ones left, and her bleary-eyed glance around showed that it was still just as full. It also showed, thanks to the large analog clock on the wall, that it was still a good half hour short of sunrise.

“You are evil,” Zarah muttered, folding the pillow over her head to block her eyes and ears. “No-one should be awake now.”

“Boo-fucking-hoo,” she heard Kihri snort, muffled by the pillow. “I have sat here watching your gross meatsack toss and turn for _four hours_. It’s Kihri’s time now.”

Zarah rolled back over to face her, but kept the pillow. “Could you not have watched television?” There were a few TVs set up at the other end of the large main room, displaying a few different channels at a low volume with subtitles.

“Spoken like someone who’s never had to watch late-night television. Trust you me, between the two, watching you snore is the _better _option.”

_Four hours_. Well, she’d gotten by on worse. “May I at least shower first?” she asked as she sat up, shaking out the stiffness in her limbs and neck.

“Yeahhhh, that’s probably a good idea, actually.” Kihri made an exaggerated show of leaning away. “You smell like the sewer that sewers run off into.”

Zarah leant down to pull her bag and shoes out from underneath the cot. “Why would a sewer need a second sewer to run off into? It seems pointless.” She knew to be more careful with her things if need be, but Kihri would warn her if someone tried to steal anything, and in fact had done so many times before.

Stepping carefully between the uneven rows of cots, holding her boots in one hand as to make less noise, she made her way across the hall towards the back, to the double-doors just past the televisions.

Most everyone else, sensibly, was still asleep, but there were a few people sitting in the folding chairs, watching the screens, reading books or playing chess.

Some familiar faces looked up as they drew closer, and Zarah nodded in greeting.

“Mornin’, Matchstick,” Ghabis grumbled with a broad smile. “Mornin’, K.”

The woman sitting on the other side of his chess board leaned over and slapped him lightly on the hand. “Don’t encourage her. Good morning, Zarah.”

“Morning, Ghabis,” Kihri said, with a grin. “Cole, go suck a horse’s dick.”

“Good morning, both of you,” Zarah said. “Ghabis, Kihri says thank you, and good morning too.”

The old man smiled a broad, toothy smile, while Cole grimaced.

“S’gonna be a cold one out today,” Ghabis said. “You got enough coats?”

“Yes, thank you. Will you be okay?”

He grinned, then let out a hoarse, painful-sounding cough. “I got enough fire yet, Matchstick. Don’chu worry bout me.” He coughed again, and Cole rolled her eyes before handing him a bottle of water. “Now, git. Grab a shower before the boilers give out again.”

She inclined her head respectfully. “Take care.”

He barked a laugh, and then broke down coughing again. “You know it, Matchstick.”

She hadn’t even made it a few feet before she heard Cole muttering from behind her. “You shouldn’t encourage her delusion, Ghabis.”

Whatever his reply was, it came just as they were passing through the doors, and the creaking of the hinges obscured it.

“What a bitch,” Kihri said, spinning around to make an ugly face back in Cole’s direction.

A quick shower and relatively-clean clothes did wonders for the constitution, and Zarah was feeling almost healthy as she and Kihri stepped out the front doors. The sun was just beginning to rise, diffuse orange light spilling out from behind the mountains, and although there was indeed a sharp, bitter chill to the air, experience told her that it would ease up in the sunlight. The streets were quiet, infrequent cars rumbling by the main source of noise, and for most of their trip, the two of them were the only ones on the street.

The sun had fully risen by the time they turned the corner onto the street alongside the park, and as she’d predicted, the edge in the air began to soften.

Although, that was only comparatively – she was still wrapped up in basically every piece of clothing she owned at once, and her breath still crystallised and fogged in the air.

“…and anyway,” Kihri was saying, “everything pretty much went downhill after they started fucking.” She was floating in a slow, lazy loop around Zarah, arms behind her head and legs folded over one another like she was lying on a couch, and rotating slightly faster on her own axis so that she was never facing the same direction any loop. It looked really dizzying to Zarah, but Kihri didn’t really have to worry about such things. “Cause, like, all the tension just completely drained from the show? And it was sort of built on that tension, so they started to flail around trying to find something else and then shit got weird cause they started introducing, like, werewolves and shit? It was _terrible, _I couldn’t stop watching, but then they backpedaled and pretended it was all a dream? Like we’d just fucking lap it up!”

Zarah had no clue what show she was talking about, but she just nodded and made the appropriate noises at the appropriate times. She wasn’t much one for television, but whenever they had a few hours and access to the internet, Kihri would get her to queue up as many episodes as she could and then burn straight through them.

Kihri seemed to be waiting for a response now. “Oh, how dare they,” she replied, as sincere as she could manage.

“Right?!” She kept on going, but Zarah tuned out, scanning the road quickly before jogging across to the other side. Not for any real reason, but just to be closer to the pine trees that lined the edge of the park. The sharp, clean smell filled the air, and she took a deep, satisfying breath.

“…and _now _they’re trying to claim it was their intent all along,” Kihri was saying, seemingly oblivious, “despite the fact that wait a fucking second.”

She stopped moving, and Zarah continued for a few steps before noticing and backtracking. “What?” she asked, as Kihri scanned up and down the street intently. “What’s wrong?”

“It’s fucking gone, is what’s up!”

“The store?”

“Yes the store, what else?” She pointed across the road, to a small convenience store at the bottom of a brick building. “It was right there! I’m sure of it.”

Zarah looked around as well, but didn’t seem to see anything that looked like a liquor store. “You are sure?”

“I _literally _just said ‘I’m sure of it’, so _yeah._” She began floating back across the street, her body language tense, but Zarah had to wait for a pickup truck to roar by before she could follow.

The store was nothing special – just a single room, not particularly wide, extending deeper into the building, with white metal and glass at the front. A sign mounted on the wall above the door read ‘Market Square’ in a simple font, angled so its two sides faced either direction down the sidewalk. Some flowers sat in bundles on cheap wooden shelving, and a hand-painted sign hung above them, declaring the store to be open.

“Fucking-” Kihri said as Zarah reached her. “Shit! Fuck! I liked this goddamn place!”

“And also it was our only lead,” Zarah noted.

“Yeah, yeah, yeah, shut up,” she replied miserably. “Let me mourn.”

Zarah couldn’t help but be a little incredulous. “Kihri. It was a _liquor store_.”

“Yeah!” she exclaimed. “It was a liquor store, staffed by weirdos, frequented by weirdos! The fucking people who would come in here, man, it was the best entertainment I’d ever had. One time there was a guy with a _sword_. A fucking _sword, _Zarah! It is, without a doubt, my most treasured memory, and now the place responsible for it is _fucking gone_. Replaced,” she glanced up and down the storefront with a grimace, “by _this._”

“…I think it is cute, actually,” Zarah replied mildly.

“Yeah, you would.” She turned and began floating away. “Come on, let’s blow this joint. No point in wasting any more time here.” She made it a few meters, then realised Zarah wasn’t following her, and spun back around. “What?”

“We should ask the owner,” Zarah said firmly. “At the very least, they might know where the old owners are now, so we can find them. They might even know…” she paused, realising they’d never learned the victim’s name. “…him,” she finished instead.

Kihri made a face, in a way that reminded her of a petulant toddler. “…fine,” she said eventually, folding her arms. “But make it quick.”

A bell jingled softly as they stepped through the door – they hadn’t touched the door, so Zarah presumed it was motion-sensitive.

“Just a moment!” a soft, raspy voice called from the back of the store. “Be with you shortly.”

It was nice, Zarah thought, if unassuming. There were the standard rows of snacks and sweets and overpriced staples. but there was also a small section of fresh fruits and vegetables – an unexpected but welcome addition. She wandered over, and found that while the prices were a bit steep, they weren’t exorbitant.

“Kihri,” she asked, picking up an orange and dropping it on the small electronic scale, “can you…?”

Her sister gave it a quick glance, eyes darting over the weight and the little sign with the price per pound, then returned to watching the CCTV behind the counter. “47 tanar,” she said. “Two brick, one cap, or two brick two cap if they round up instead of down “

“Right.” She rifled around in her change-purse, until she found the right coins, and walked back to the counter. A moment later, a short woman, presumably the owner of the voice, came bustling out with a smile.

Zarah gave a her a quick once-over as she let herself into the cashier area. She looked to be either at the tail-end of middle-aged or just getting into a healthy elderly, a bit shorter than Zarah (not that that was unusual), and skin considerably darker than her own ashwood brown-grey. Thick, wiry black hair bounced around her head as she moved, having escaped from a now-tiny ponytail at the back, and she was dressed in simple clothes and a black apron with the name of the store stitched into it in white.

“Sorry about that,” the woman said, in the same raspy voice. “Had to clean up a spill. What can I help you with today?” She spoke with a slight accent, some of the sounds having a slightly odd, buzzy quality, but her Brechtin was excellent – better than Zarah’s.

“That is alright,” Zarah replied, handing over the orange. “Just this, please.”

“Sure thing.” She dropped it onto the scale and punched some numbers into what Zarah realised was actually an old manual till, with the clunky typewriter buttons. “That’ll just be 45 tanar.”

Floating behind her, Kihri stuck out her tongue, looking smug. Zarah ignored her and handed over the coins, then dropped the spare cap in the tip jar for good measure. “Thank you. May I ask you something?”

The woman blinked, then smiled, toothy and crooked but warm. “Of course, dear.”

“Are you the owner?”

Her eyes narrowed slightly, her expression becoming more guarded. “Why do you ask?”

“Dude,” Kihri said from behind her, amused, “she thinks you’re gonna rob her.”

Zarah blinked, stunned. “Ah- , you apologise I- I only-” She paused, closed her eyes and took a deep breath, centring herself. “I am sorry,” she tried again, slow and deliberate, “I did not mean to make you uncomfortable. I only asked because I was hoping you knew about the store that was here before.”

After a moment, the shopkeeper relaxed, some of the tension slipping from her. “Ah. In that case, yes, I am. Do you mean the liquor store?”

She nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, exactly!” Kihri supplied her with the name, and she repeated it out loud. “Sullivan Spirits? Do you know what happened to it?”

The shopkeeper seemed a little off-put by her sudden enthusiasm. “The old owner died, a few months ago. His family arranged the sale of the business, and I needed a new place to move my store. Why do you ask?”

“Welp!” Kihri declared. “There goes that lead! Old fart’s dead, nothing we could’ve done, yadda yadda. Let’s get going.”

Zarah ignored her. “I was hoping to find someone who used to work at the liquor store,” she explained to the shopkeeper. “I do not know his name, though.”

She pursed her lips. “Hm. Do you have a photograph?”

“Ah, um.” She pulled out her phone, but then immediately realised that all of them would make it obvious that he was dead. At best, it would look like she’d photographed him while sleeping, which was… also not great.

“I do, but… please, promise me you will not react until I have a chance to explain.”

Her eyes narrowed again, but after a moment’s deliberation, she nodded slowly, and Zarah passed her the phone.

It felt wrong, somehow, to watch, so Zarah looked down at her feet instead, but there was no avoiding the horrified gasp that came only a moment later.

“Oh,” she breathed. “Oh, Hami.” She muttered a few more phrases in a language that Zarah didn’t recognise, then slowly turned her gaze to Zarah. “Where?” she demanded. “When?”

She couldn’t bring herself to meet the unyielding gaze. “Achor Bridge, just beyond the Milton steelworks,” she said quietly. “Last night. Maybe earlier, but that is when we- I, found him.”

“How?”

“I… there have been… others.”

There was silence for a moment, and when Zarah chanced a look upwards at her face, she got the impression of many complex thoughts passing in rapid succession. Then, all at once, the shopkeeper seemed to deflate, the energy leaving her as her shoulders sagged, and she passed the phone back across the counter.

“Dammit,” she muttered. “Dammit.” Then more words Zarah didn’t recognise, but that were very obviously curses.

“…you knew him, then?” Zarah asked as she took the phone back.

The shopkeeper nodded. “Hami Othranta. He would come around most days, we would talk. I would give him what I could spare. I offered him work, even, but he said he couldn’t.” She took a deep breath, shuddering slightly. “…he was only sixteen.”

“…I am sorry,” was all Zarah could say.

She took another deep breath, then nodded. “I’m guessing that trying to take this to any authority would be pointless?”

_Blood on concrete, the flash of a badge, smug laughter-_

Zarah nodded wordlessly.

“Yeah, I figured.” Her fingers drummed furiously against the counter for a few moments. “…what’s your name?” she asked eventually.

“Ah, um. Zarah. Zarah Vyas.”

She raised an eyebrow. “That’s not a Pashtari name, is it?” she asked, gesturing to Zarah’s hair.

Zarah shook her head. “No, it is not…” She trailed off. “No. It is not.”

Apparently, that was answer enough for her.

“Mulunesh Bzuayehu,” she said, tapping her chest. “You can just call me Mulu, or Mrs. B. Nice to meet you, I suppose, although I wish it were under better circumstances.”

“Likewise.”

Mrs. B sighed, leaning heavy on the countertop. “I feel like I’m going to regret this, but I also get the sense nothing’s going to sway you from it. Hami had been talking, in the last few weeks, about some new job he’d found. He said,” she pointed out the window and across the street, “that it was in the park.”

“What sort of job do you find in a park?” Zarah asked.

“That’s what I said. He was vague about it, but he said the money was good. I didn’t want to push him away, so I didn’t ask more questions.” She took another one of those deep, shuddering breaths. “My mistake, i suppose.”

Zarah wanted to do… something. Say something, or reach out, offer some comfort. “I am sorry,” she repeated instead.

Mrs. B shook her head. “Nothing to be sorry for, Zarah. It’s not your fault, and I know it’s not mine either, even though it feels like it. It’s just… how things are, sometimes.”

Zarah hesitated, but then powered through. “I would hope that… maybe they do not have to be.”

The older woman’s gaze lifted to meet hers, and there was something sad and knowing in it. “Maybe. Are you going to try and do something about it?”

“Maybe,” was all she could reply. Kihri, who had spent most of the conversation silent and pensive, let out a mocking snort.

Mrs. B shook her head, and said something else in that other language. “_Day wehkso ngia forta ngian eber wes_,” it sounded like to Zarah.

“What does that mean?” she asked.

Mrs. B gave a bitter smile. “It’s an old Nguni saying. ‘We forever throw children after children.’ It’s always the youngest who suffer.” She pulled a pen from a pocket, and grabbed a spare piece of receipt paper. “I can’t stop you from doing whatever you’re going to do, Zarah Vyas, but…” she jotted down a few numbers, and handed it over. “If you need help, or you need somewhere to stay, call me.”

Slowly, Zarah took the paper, a little stunned. “…thank you,” she managed to say. “This is- thank you.”

“Pay me back by staying alive,” she replied. “Now, go. There are some police that always come by in a few minutes for their coffee.”

“Oh shit,” Kihri yelled in a strange accent, clearly quoting something, “it’s the fucking rozzers! Book it!”

Zarah shot her a glare, then turned back to Mrs. B, and bowed her head quickly in thanks. “I will… let you know,” she said, not feeling up to finishing the sentence.

She nodded back in return. “Stay safe.”


	3. Spring and a Storm

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the mystery deepens and horrors are discovered

“Well, that certainly looks like something,” Kihri said slowly.

It was the first thing either of them had said in a while, and so it gave Zarah a small scare when her sister began speaking. They’d gone straight across the road into the park after leaving Market Square, and although Kihri had started talking about something called a ‘grid sweep’, Zarah had instead opted to head straight for the centre, following a gut instinct. Of course, being ignored had thrown Kihri into a sulk, and so she had spent most of the time floating a few meters behind Zarah, facing the other direction with her arms folded.

Quite frankly, she was glad for the respite – the park was beautiful enough that incessant chatter would have detracted from it. It was essentially a very small forest; tall pines ran in uneven rows from one end to the other, essentially keeping the entire park in the shade. There were some simple dirt paths here and there, and the occasional bench, but for the most part it was just the trees overhead and the dirt and grass underfoot. The wind was strong, and so the sounds of rustling branches and leaves filled the air, nearly drowning out the bird calls and other animals.

It was… tranquil, she decided, and so it seemed like a shame to her when they came to the centre of the forest and found an ugly, squat, concrete building there.

“Seriously, what the fuck?” Kihri had caught up as soon as they saw the clearing up ahead, and now she floated on ahead, beginning to circle the building. “This looks like… a power plant or something? What’s it doing here?”

“Maybe it is the… maintenance building? Where they keep the tools and things?”

“One, why the fuck would they use concrete, instead of just making a shed?” She disappeared from view behind the building, but her voice was still clearly audible. “Two, why the fuck would they put it right in the middle? Why not on one of the sides.” She re-appeared on the other side. “Three, there would be _literally any signage at all._”

She was right, it turned out. The two of them scoured the entire outside of the building, circling it multiple times, but couldn’t find a single plaque or sign. Kihri thought she found a place where a sign used to be, but the concrete was so weathered that they couldn’t say for sure if they were actually seeing it or if their minds were just tricking them into thinking so.

“Hold on,” Kihri said suddenly, after they’d reconvened at the ‘front’ of the building (the side they’d approached from). “Search something for me?”

“Sure?”

“Look up images of… what’s the fucking term. Breaker station?”

“That only brings up some kind of book.”

“Shit, alright. Um… try ‘power station small’.”

“Scale models and toys.”

“…’power _sub_station’?”

Zarah blinked. “Huh. That does look quite similar, actually.”

“Third time’s the charm,” Kihri said with a fist pump. “Ooh, now check if there’s a subway running underneath here.”

“…there is. How did you know that?”

“Only possible reason I could think of for it to be here.” She spun around. “Welp, mystery solved!”

“Mystery _not _solved!” Zarah said. “Where are all the signs? Should it not be fenced off?”

“…okay, that’s a good point. Well, guess we’re going inside!”

“I do not think that is a good idea. It could be dangerous.”

“Yeah,” Kihri snorted, “for _you_.” She began floating up the steps towards an unmarked door. “Come on, loser, take some risks.”

Reluctantly, Zarah followed her up the steps.

After Kihri stuck her head through the door and gave the go-ahead, she slowly creaked it open.

It led out onto a grated metal platform, overlooking a large room that looked to be about the size of the building’s exterior. Down on the ground floor, behind fences and warnings at last, was electrical equipment that look similar to ones that they’d seen on the internet. The room was dim, but not completely dark, thanks to a small, yellow skylight on the roof, which gave it a very dim, grimy vibe.

There were no stairs down, but there was a ladder. It seemed solid enough, but she still tested the first few rungs before climbing down into the small area of the main floor outside the fences. Or, considering the relative sizes, it was more like it was the fenced-in area. Still, the signs were on her side, which supported the original thought.

“I mean, I’m no expert on power stations- sorry, _sub_stations, but this all looks pretty normal to me.” Kihri had already floated through the fences, and proceeded to stick her head inside one of the machines.

She re-emerged almost immediately, sticking her tongue out. “Ugh. Tastes weird.”

“You should not do that,” Zarah cautioned. “It could cause it to malfunction.”

“Oh, yeah, for sure. Eight years of not being able to affect anything, and it finally works as soon as it’d be dangerous ?” She paused. “Okay, actually, I see your point.”

Zarah inspected the door in the fence, and the lock attached to it. “Can you look around in there? I do not want to break this or climb over.”

“What am I looking for?”

“…anything suspicious?”

“Great! Super specific and helpful.” She was grinning, though, and when Zarah made a shoo-ing motion, she went (albeit with an obscene gesture).

While she did that, Zarah turned her attention to the small filing cabinet and desk.

The former was locked, and the latter was bare, save for a single piece of paper, which turned out to be a slightly scuffed maintenance schedule. The same name and signature appeared on almost every monthly occurrence – “Jona Mehrvitz”.

“Jona Mehrvitz,” Zarah repeated out loud.

“Who the fuck,” came the reply from the other side of the room, “is Jona Mehrvitz?”

“I do not know. I just needed you to remember the name.”

“Oh, that’s all I’m good for now, huh? I’m just your fucking rolodex. Nevermind everything I do for you, or that I’m your sister, or that I’m dead, you just want me to… remember… names…”

“Kihri?!” Zarah asked, alarmed.

“…there’s like a fucking mineshaft back here,” she replied after a moment. “Little hole in the wall and a ladder going down.”

“Oh. I thought it was going to be something serious. That is probably just an access to the subway, remember?”

“I wasn’t done. And also maybe I was ordering information for dramatic effect, whatever. There’s also, like, a _scary _amount of blood here.”

“…please mention that first next time.”

It was indeed a significant amount of blood, dried and caked in layers on the ground and on the walls around the ladder. To get inside, Zarah had eventually had to jimmy the lock on the fence open – not something she had much experience with, but Kihri had made her watch more than a few internet videos on the subject. Skirting around the edges of the room to avoid getting too close to any of the equipment had also been difficult, and she’d taken off her jacket and left it on the table before even attempting it, but she had eventually made it over to Kihri, safe and un-electrocuted.

Not that it was a particularly pleasant achievement. After a second, she realised that there were faint streaks in the blood, all leading towards the edge and the ladder, and only a second longer to intuite their source – fingers, clawing at the ground as they were dragged inside.

“I retract any previous flippant comments about danger,” Kihri said.

Zarah pushed down the wave of nausea that threatened to rise. “Can you tell how old the blood is?” she asked hoarsely.

Kihri looked like she wanted to make another comment, but held it back, and floated down closer. “…it’s in layers,” she said slowly. “Freshest is probably a few days old, then about a week under that, and so on. Looks… pretty consistent, actually.”

“…what do we do?” Zarah asked.

“_We_ do nothing. I’ll go check it out down there. Yell if you… get electrocuted, I guess.”

She disappeared through the floor. Carefully, trying not to touch any of the blood, Zarah leant against the wall, propping herself up to wait. The low hum of the equipment hadn’t bothered her at first, but as she stood there it seemed to grow louder and louder, drilling into her brain until it was all she could hear, drowning out even her heartbeat and the blood rushing through her ears-

“Nothing.”

Zarah yelped, spinning around and sending her foot flying through Kihri’s face where it stuck out of the floor.

She raised an eyebrow. “Rude. What crawled up your ass?”

Zarah shook her head, the humming suddenly back to its background level. “…sorry. I was just… startled.”

She didn’t seem convinced. “…alright? Anyway, there’s no-one down there. Can’t see much, though, too dark. Something big in the middle of the room, but it’s not moving or breathing.”

Zarah nodded, then began pulling off her sweatshirt so she could wrap it around her hands. “How far down?”

“Maybe ten feet.” Kihri began to sink back into the ground. “Also, you’re gonna want to hold your breath, I think.”

* * *

The smell hit her about halfway down the ladder, sickly sweet rotting meat and coppery dried blood. She’d folded up her shirt over her face, but it was still almost too thick to breathe, and quick, shallow breaths were the only thing keeping her from vomiting. Even through the shirt, she could feel the slight stickiness on the rungs, and she resolved to burn the garment once they were done rather than even trying to salvage it, because some stains were never coming out.

“Three more rungs,” Kihri counted for her from below. “Two more rungs. One more rung. Next step is the ground.”

“Thanks,” she replied as her foot touched ground. It was almost completely black – the light from the top of the shaft created a small well at the bottom, but beyond that there were no other sources. She could vaguely make out a room about the same size as the one above, but in the opposite direction and with a lower ceiling. There were what looked like cabinets or fuse boxes along the walls, and, like Kihri had said, a large object in the middle of the room. It was boxy at the bottom, but more rounded and asymmetric at the top, almost organic-looking.

“Blood on the walls?” she asked Kihri.

“Not as far as I can tell, no. Try to your left.”

She reached out a hand, feeling up and down the cold concrete wall. After a moment of searching, she found a large, clunky switch, and flipped it down.

It made a hefty-sounding _chunk_, and a moment later, the fluorescent lights hummed into life, and bathed the room in bright, cold light.

The two of them stood frozen, taking in the scene before them. The boxes around the edge of the room did indeed turn out to be fuse boxes and various pieces of electrical equipment, sealed wires and tubes disappearing into the wall behind them. There was an isolation switch on the wall near them, bright red with a yellow symbol, and a large, slightly rusty handle, and a large cabinet with the label ‘KEY’ on the front. To their right, a small table sat, with an old television displaying the CCTV view of an empty subway tunnel, presumably the one that the station managed. A half-eaten sandwich sat next to it on one side, and on the other, a set of pristine tools lay on a clean black cloth.

They weren’t looking at that, though, because the object in the centre of the room took up the entirety of their attention.

“So.” Kihri said after a moment. “Good news. I think we found Jona Mehrvitz.”

The object turned out to not be _an_ object at all, but instead three separate ones. The first was a medical chair/table hybrid, the kind you might see in a dentist’s office, which had been adjusted to a semi-upright position, and was bolted securely to the floor.

The second was a corpse, held into the chair with thick straps. It was wearing an electrician’s coveralls, but it was too mutilated to make out any details in the face. A bloodstained name badge on the coveralls did indeed read “MEHRVITZ”, and his shoes had been pulled off and set to the side, exposing the bloody, pulped mess that had been made of his feet.

The third was a large, bright red hammer protruding from his chest.

It was about two feet long along the haft, and seemed to have a spiked and blunt end to the head, the former of which was buried deep in the corpse’s torso and protruding from the back of the chair.

Zarah had thought it was made of painted metal at first, but as her eyes adjusted to the light, it became clear that it wasn’t. It wasn’t just painted red, it _was_ red, and slightly translucent, in fact. The entire thing looked like it was made from one solid piece of red glass, with the translucence causing the edges to become darker and more prominent. It barely even seemed real, let alone capable of causing such horrific damage.

“Couldn’t have just used a regular hammer, huh?” Kihri commented after another period of silence.

“This is not the time,” Zarah snapped at her.

“Oh, come on.” She rolled her eyes. “You’ve gotta get desensitised eventually. S’bad for your mental health if you don’t – saw that in a documentary.”

“That was a documentary about _child soldiers_.”

“Well, sure, but the point still stands.”

Zarah growled incoherently at her, then stalked forward onto the veritable island of blood stains that covered the floor around the chair. _Why can’t she just have some basic respect? You’d think that she of all people would understand, but no. She just has to be the funniest one around, has to crack the best jokes, has to be so ‘cool’ and disrespectful all the time!_

“You okay there, Z?” Kihri asked from behind her. “What’re you muttering?”

“Nothing,” Zarah muttered.

“Sure, sure.” Surprisingly quickly, her sister swooped in front of her, stopping her short. “Let me go first,” she said. “Don’t want to get blood all over you for no reason. Well, _more _blood, anyway.”

Grudgingly, Zarah waited at the edge of the blood while Kihri ducked in closer, spinning around the chair and observing it from different angles.

“God, this is insane,” she commented, floating up to the corpse’s face. “I genuinely have no idea how he’s not just a pile of bloody giblets. Like, what’s even holding him together anymore?”

“Is the brain still intact?”

“…huh. Yeah, it is. That’s kind of terrifying, actually. Means he probably actually bled to death while in excruciating pain the entire time.”

“So he was not just killed, he was tortured.”

“Seems that way. Skillfully, too. Someone who knew what they were doing.” She glanced around at the faded bloodstains. “Or,” she admitted, “someone who had a lot of opportunities to practice.”

Unbidden, a fact that Kihri had shared with her once rose to mind – namely, that there was about one and a half gallons of blood in the average person. How many people were in that pool? How many had-

“Fuck!” Kihri shot away from the body like she’d been electrocuted, shaking her hand furiously. “Son of a bitch, that hurt!”

“Are you okay?”

She continued shaking for a few more moments, then fell still. “I think so, yeah. Seriously, Yanis, you couldn’t have just used a regular fucking hammer?”

“…who?”

Kihri looked at her like she was stupid. “Uh, Yanis, dude. Yanis Metzin? The lady who made the hammer? Do I have… to… explain…” The realisation of what she’d just said seemed to sink in, and her eyes went wide. “Zarah?” she asked slowly.

“…Kihri?”

“_What the _fuck _is going on?!” _

Instinctively, Zarah took a step backwards, but Kihri didn’t even seem to notice. She was holding her hands up in front of her face, turning them back and forth.

“…are you sure you are okay?” Zarah asked tentatively.

“<…I don’t know,>” she replied in Pashtari, sounding genuinely scared for the first time Zarah could remember. “<It was just… _there. _Like the colour of the sky, or the day of the week.>”

“<Do you… do you know anything else?>”

“<I don’t know,>” she repeated. “<Maybe try asking me something else?>”

“<Okay… where does Yanis live?>”

“How the fuck should I know?!” Kihri snapped back immediately. “…shit. I’m sorry, dude, I’m just… worked up.” She went back to Brechtin so suddenly that Zarah wasn’t even sure she realised they’d switched languages in the first place.

“It is okay,” she said softly. “Um. What is the hammer made of?”

“Solidified essence.” Again, the answer came instantly and casually.

“What? Essence of what?”

Kihri blinked. “I… wait, shit. _She _doesn’t know.” She hissed, clutching her hands to her head. “Get _out_,” she growled, “of my _head_.”

“…did that work?” Zarah asked after a moment.

“No, it didn’t fucking work!” Kihri yelled, spinning on her. “Some fucking creepy mass-murder ladies memories just fucking _zapped _themselves into my brain, but I got rid of them by _yelling_?!”

Zarah held up her hands in front of her, palms out. “You need to calm, Kihri.”

“Oh, really?! Because it seems to me like-”

The wall exploded inwards.


	4. Good Intentions Paving Company

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which zarah sees red while kihri feels blue

Dust and debris sprayed across the room, and even as she ducked away, Zarah felt a burning line of fire across her forehead as a piece grazed her. It all passed harmlessly though Kihri, of course, but she followed Zarah down to the ground anyway, lowering herself into the floor until only her head was sticking out.

“Yoooooo hooooo!” a voice trilled out of the cloud of dust. “Anybody home?” It sounded inordinately pleased with itself, and had a soft, lilting accent that she couldn’t place.

“Can you get to the ladder?” Kihri asked Zarah, not bothering to lower her voice.

She shook her head in response – _her _voice, he’d hear. The ladder was behind them, pure open space with no cover the whole way.

“Yanisss,” the voice continued, and Kihri’s head jerked up at the name. “I’ve come to collect! You wouldn’t have gone and _forgotten_, would you?”

With the last few words, the voice’s owner emerged from the dust.

He was white, thinly-built, with straight black hair and a creepy little goatee. His clothes were unexceptional, but clean and in good condition.

He was also hovering a whole foot off the ground, held up at the waist by a thick band of tendrils that carried him forward. They looked to be made of the same stuff as the hammer, and were a light, slightly translucent-

Blue.

“Oh shit,” Kihri said as Zarah started to rise. “Dude, no, you can’t-”

She didn’t hear the rest, the rushing of blood in her ears seeming to grow until it drowned out everything else. The man turned towards her as she stood, and a grin crossed his face. He said something, but Zarah couldn’t hear it. She stalked forward, eyes locked on him, and slowly his smile faded.

Without even slowing, she grabbed the hammer with both hands and yanked it free of the chair. It sent a jolt like electricity through her, but she barely even noticed it, and as she began to run, the scream that had been building inside her finally boiled over, tearing out of her throat in pure, wordless rage.

The man jerked back, caught off-guard by her sudden ferocity, and although two of the tendrils whipped up to try and catch her, they were too late to stop her from swinging the hammer full-force into his chest.

He went flying backwards across the room, and slammed into the cabinets on the opposite wall.

Zarah blinked. It didn’t feel like she’d hit him that hard. She wasn’t sure anyone could have. Then again, it didn’t seem like anyone should be able to survive it, either, and yet the man was already pulling himself out of the wall, tendrils digging into the concrete.

“Typical,” he spat, wiping some blood away from his mouth with the back of one hand. “Always leaving me messes to clean up.”

“Dude,” Kihri’s voice said from behind her, “seriously, we’ve got to go.”

Zarah ignored her and charged forward again, raising the hammer for another swing.

He was ready for her this time, though, and the tendrils met her while she was still a few feet away. She dodged two of them as they speared forward, surprisingly easily, and batted a third aside with the hammer, but the fourth one wrapped around her ankle and whipped her across the room and into the wall.

Distantly, she could hear Kihri’s voice, calling her name, but it was muffled by a loud and powerful ringing. She picked herself up off the ground, wincing, but she didn’t actually feel as hurt as she’d expected. He must not have thrown her very hard. Or, at least, not as hard as he evidently thought he had, because he’d turned away, completely dismissing her to examine the corpse on the chair.

The hammer was still in her hands, somehow, so she just charged in again, swinging with her whole body. At the last second, he began to turn, and she got a single, satisfying glimpse of his shocked face before he went flying again, back through the hole in the wall he’d made.

There was a loud _crunch_, and a pained growl, but there was still too much dust, and not enough light, to see far past the hole.

“Hey, uh,” Kihri’s voice said from behind her, “dude?” Something in her tone made Zarah turn, and she found her staring not at her face, but down at her hands. “Again, _what the fuck?!_”

She followed her sister’s gaze downwards. Surrounding her hands, strongest where they touched the hammer, was a corona of light – _black _light. Somehow – she knew enough about science to know that ‘black’ was really just the absence of light, and yet, there it was. Clearly providing illumination, yet somehow still undeniably black.

“I…” she said slowly. “What is… _how _is-”

She wasn’t sure how to finish the sentence, but it ended up being a moot point anyway, as a tendril shot out of the dust cloud and yanked her backwards.

She let out a startled yelp as she was lifted off the ground, and then, too quick to react, its grip disappeared, and she was hurtling through the air again.

Somehow, she managed to spin herself around in the air so that she was facing at least vaguely forward, and she felt the hammer connect with something, an instant before she slammed into something hard. Another wall, presumably, but as she fell this time, she felt it slope underneath her, and ended up rolling to a stop against something cold and hard, metal pressing into her shoulder-blade.

“Zarah!” she heard Kihri yell from above her. “Are you okay?”

She groaned in response, slowly hauling herself upright. The metal turned out to be the outside rails of train tracks, and from there, it didn’t take much to figure out that they were in the adjacent subway tunnel. Which also explained the curved walls.

“Ooh,” the man jeered from behind her, “did that _hurt_? Poor thing.”

Improbably, she had still maintained her grip on the hammer the entire time, and so she didn’t hesitate to spin all the way around straight into another swing.

Which, of course, left her stumbling and off-balance when it connected with nothing at all.

The man laughed as his tendrils carried him further back, still off the ground. His hands were actually in his pockets now, which just seemed pointlessly smug. “Who even are you, anyway?” he asked with a smirk. “Do you have even the slightest idea of what’s going on here?”

Zarah growled and began to step towards him.

“_Don’t_!” Kihri yelled, with enough urgency that she stopped with one foot still in the air. “Red rails! They’re live!”

Sure enough, when Zarah looked down, she found her foot hovering just over one of the rails, which was covered in faded, flaking red paint.

Carefully, she moved her foot back and set it down, firmly on the concrete.

The man pouted comically. “Aww, too bad. I wanted to see you get all crispy.” He shrugged. “Still, I think I’ll survive.” Then he looked up, and Zarah couldn’t help but flinch from the terrifying look in his eye. “You won’t, though.”

It wasn’t just a few of the tendrils that came barrelling down at her this time – it was _all of them_. The man launched himself forward, and as he did even the tendrils that had been holding him up shot towards her. She threw herself to the side just as the first few buried themselves in the ground, and tried to block them next ones with the hammer, but it was thin, and there were so many of them, and a few of them coiled together until they were thicker around than her head, and gored her through the torso.

“Oh fuck,” Kihri gasped from above.

She knew it should hurt more than it did. Sure, it _hurt, _but it felt more like she’d just been punched really hard in the stomach. Until she had to cough, which made blood spew out of her mouth, and her insides feel like they’d been set on fire.

“Really?” the man was saying. “That’s it? God, _nothing _about today can go right, huh?” The tendril she was impaled on suddenly retracted, and without it holding her up, her legs didn’t seem to want to work anymore. “Can’t even get a good fight,” he muttered sourly, as he lifted up and off the tracks, disappearing back through the hole and out of sight. The strange swishing crunch noise that the tendrils made quickly faded away, only to be replaced with a faint and distant rumbling. One that was beginning to grow louder.

“<Zarah?>” Kihri’s voice asked, suddenly right next to her. “<Zarah? Can you hear me?>”

“<Mrggg,>” she groaned in response.

“<Zarah, you need to get up. There’s a train coming.>”

Ah, that was what the rumbling was. Carefully, she lifted the hammer and placed the head against the ground so she could use it to support herself as she hauled herself onto her feet.

“<Saints!>” Kihri swore as she did so. “<How are you-?>”

“<What?>”

“<I can see _through _you, Zarah. How the fuck are you standing?!>”

“<Does it matter right now?>” She began limping towards the other side of the tunnel, her free hand clutched to her stomach..

“<It does if you end up making your injuries… actually, you know what? Never mind.>”

Zarah didn’t know what had made her change her mind, but it didn’t seem that important in that moment. The rumbling was getting louder now, quite rapidly, so she lifted the hammer up onto the floor of the breaker room, then used it and her other hand to haul herself up. It was awkward and ungainly, and it made her stomach burn like it had been soaked in acid, but she managed to get all the way up and roll over onto her stomach, away from the hole.

Barely five seconds later, the train came roaring past, deafeningly loud and bright, bringing with it enough wind to nearly blow Zarah backwards.

And then it was gone, and it was just the two of them and the corpse.

It was so tempting to just lie there on the cool ground, but Zarah made herself roll over, and slowly scooched over to the wall, and then wiggled her back up it until she was sitting upright. _Then _she allowed herself to slump, head falling backwards against the concrete.

“Fuckin’… _saints_, dude,” Kihri said from in front of her. “How the fuck are you still alive?”

Zarah coughed weakly, and immediately regretted it. “Wait a few moments and it may become moot.”

“Uh, yeah, no,” she said, pointing down at her wounds. “Probably fucking not.”

With some effort, Zarah adjusted her position so she could actually look down at the hole in her stomach. Which… seemed a lot _smaller _than it had felt. The hole in her shirt was almost a foot across, but the wound was barely half that. And, even as she watched, it grew smaller still, fresh, pale brown skin slowly growing towards the centre.

She could feel it too, she realised – not directly, not as a sensation, but the pain was already less than it had been, and rapidly fading.

She looked up again to meet Kihri’s baffled gaze with her own.

“Do you mind,” she asked weakly, “if I encroach on your territory for a moment?”

“Sure,” her twin replied faintly. “Go right ahead.”

“_What. _In the _fuck. _Is happening?!”

It wasn’t particularly funny, but Kihri laughed anyway, which then set Zarah off and for a minute they just cackled together on the ground, more out of adrenaline than any actual humour.

“So,” Kihri said as the last of the laughter faded away, “uh. What do we do now?”

Zarah glanced down again, and found that the only trace remaining of her hypothetically-mortal wound was a large patch of untanned skin. “I… it was him. It had to be him.”

“That killed those folks? I mean, not conclusively, but it fits.”

“And now,” she gestured with the hand holding the hammer limply, “this. Red as well as blue.”

“And black, too.” Though that particularly light had begun to fade way now, it was still faintly visible. “D’ya think it means something?”

Zarah sighed, letting her head fall back against the wall. “…I have no idea what I think. What about you? Seeing as you are apparently psychic now?”

Kihri let out a long, tortured groan as she floated down beside Zarah, imitating her posture against the wall. “Don’t even fucking start, dude. I really don’t want to think about it right now. Or later. Or ever! Just, _pshhh!” _She made a gesture like confetti raining down. “Forget it ever happened.”

“…why does it bother you so much?”

“Why does _having someone else’s memories suddenly inserted into my head _bother me?!”

“Yes, that is what I was asking.”

She snorted. “‘Cause it’s fucking weird, that’s why.”

That was a lie, and not even a good one, but Zarah decided not to push it.

“What about that… thing?” Kihri continued, evidently determined to move away from the topic anyway. “Around his neck?”

“I did not see anything?”

“He definitely did, trust me. Like a cloak or a cape or something. It looked… kinda blue? But also kinda not. I dunno.”

Zarah was fairly certain she’d gotten a clear look at the man, and hadn’t seen anything like Kihri described, but things had been chaotic enough that she couldn’t say for certain. “Do you think it is connected to…” she waved a hand vaguely. “All of this?”

“I fucking hope so, because the alternative is we’ve got _two _completely unrelated instances of spooky bullshit going.”

“Three.”

“What?”

“There are three, not two.”

“What’s the third, then? We’ve got glowy bullshit, weird capes that apparently maybe not everyone can see, and…?”

“…you.”

“…excuse me?”

“I am sorry,” Zarah said cautiously, “but it is something we should consider. Do you not think that perhaps there might be some connection between-”

“I think,” Kihri snapped, shooting upright, “that we’ve spent long enough _sitting around _with a fucking corpse in the room.” She moved upwards towards the ceiling, her posture tense. “I’ll be waiting outside.”

Zarah sighed, then hoisted herself upright to follow. The movement felt… wrong, somehow, though. Almost a little too quick, a little too easy.

It was the pain, she realised a moment later. Or, rather, the lack of it. She felt… fine. _Great, _even. Healthy and hearty, more so than she’d felt in… a long time. She glanced down at the hammer in her hand, as if to make it reveal its secrets.

“<What _are _you?>” she said to the empty room.

Unsurprisingly, neither the hammer nor the corpse had any answers.

After blessing the body and closing its eyes (somewhat thankful for Kihri’s absence), she clambered back up the ladder, not bothering to avoid touching the blood this time. She knew she already looked worrying, covered in blood and dust and wielding a hammer, and figured that a little more blood wouldn’t make a difference. Admittedly, she did start to regret it about halfway up, when the texture really started to get to her, but at that point it was a bit too late to do anything about it.

As she had said, Kihri was waiting outside, floating around the treetops and occasionally stopping to inspect one. There wasn’t actually anything interesting up there, Zarah could tell – she just wanted to look like she had something to do. The posture gave it away – she tried to appear mildly interested, relaxed and curious, but Kihri only really had two modes; sarcastic boredom or obsessive interest.

Zarah let her continue for a few moments, then deliberately closed the door with a loud _clang_. Kihri still spent a few more seconds pretending she hadn’t heard, though, which was about typical.

“Finally,” she said, spinning around to face her but not descending. “God, you really do look like a murderer! Didja spend some extra time rolling the blood, just to complete the look?”

Zarah ignored the taunt. “I do not think we should go to shelter, until we have a chance to clean.”

“Until _you’ve _had a chance, excuse you. _I_ look as beautiful as ever.”

“Yes, that seems to be accurate.”

“Pff.” As usual, a properly-executed jibe seemed to restore some of her good cheer, and she was smirking slightly as she descended back to ground level. “What are you thinking, then? Where’s the nearest public showers, the pool on Firth and Primrose?”

“…I think that is too far.”

“Mm, yeah, true. Considering you look like…” she clicked her tongue. “Okay, I could make a bunch of super dope references but you’re not gonna get any of them, so let’s just say you look like the shit a shit would take and leave it at that.”

“…thank you, I think.”

“So what’s the plan, then? Dirt bath? Sleep in a tree and eat squirrels until it rains?”

“…I think I might have to call in a favour a lot sooner than expected.”


	5. Never Let It Die

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which information is shared and an offer is rejected

Zarah was actually quite impressed with Mrs. B’s composure. She didn’t scream or shout, and she kept all of her swearing under her breath and indecipherable.

“I am truly sorry,” Zarah said again, “I know how much of an imposition this is, but I truly-”

“-didn’t know where else to go,” the older woman finished for her, one hand on her forehead. “Yeah, I know. I know.” She let out a long-suffering sigh. “I really thought it’d take longer than this,” she muttered under her breath.

They’d been lucky enough not to run into anyone else in the park, but the last few yards from the edge of the treeline to Market Square on the other side of the road had been terrifying. Even with Kihri to act as a spotter, cars could come by so quickly that she’d just had to chance it, waiting until there were no pedestrians and then making a mad sprint across the four lanes. A car had come rumbling around the corner when she was almost across, and she just had to hope that they hadn’t paid too much attention to her, or the bloodstained package she held in her arms (the hammer, wrapped in her stained and torn overshirt).

Thankfully, the store was still empty, so they had been able to rush right in and hide from view behind one of the shelves.

View from outside, that is – not from inside. Mrs. B had been sitting at the counter, and had shot out of her seat so fast when they entered that it had toppled over backwards.

For a second, Zarah had honestly thought she was going to pick her up and throw her out there door, but instead she merely crouched down behind the shelf with them and asked for- well, _demanded, _an explanation.

“And you’re sure no-one saw you?” she asked again, standing up slightly to glance over the top of the shelves.

“I… fairly certain, yes. Perhaps it would be better to say that no-one noticed me?”

“Let’s hope so.” She sighed, running a hand through her thick curls. “Okay. My apartment is upstairs, through the stockroom door and then up the stairs on the left. The shower is the first room on the right – _please _try and avoid smearing blood everywhere. Do you have clean clothes?” Zarah nodded. “Okay. Once you’re washed, I’ll close the store and you give me a proper explanation.” It wasn’t a question, but she nodded again in agreement anyway. “Good.” The older woman stood upright, and walked back towards the counter. “Give me a holler when you’re done.”

The confusion must have been evident on her face, because Kihri hopped in to clarify almost immediately. “She means she wants you to call out to her once you’re finished.”

“…’holler’ means that?”

Kihri shrugged. “It’s a fun language. Now come on, Murdergirl. You smell like a cow got turned inside out.”

* * *

Even when they had it, the hot water at the shelters was usually more like warm water, so to Zarah, the scalding temperatures of the apartment’s shower were a blessing. That, and not having to share the space with anyone.

She let the water cascade down, scouring her skin and washing away the blood and grime, and leant forward against the wall, resting her head against her arm, as the other one used the hammer to support herself.

The weapon had been as filthy as she was, covered in blood and dust, and so she’d brought it in with her, leaning the head on the ground and using it like a walking stick. The blood hadn’t truly stained it, though, merely formed a dried coating that washed away easily.

She took a deep breath, then another, slowly calming her racing heart. It felt like the first chance to breathe she’d had in… well, it had only been a few hours, but it seemed like much longer. Now that the adrenaline was fading, she just felt _drained, _more so every second.

Her breath started to falter and catch, coming in quick, ragged gasps, and if she hadn’t been supporting herself with the hammer, she might’ve fallen entirely, her legs refusing to hold her. All her limbs were shaking now, and even though her heartbeat had slowed, it still felt like a drumbeat against her ribs, pounding so hard that it felt like it would explode outwards.

_What am I doing? _She’d almost _died. _She _should _have died! She’d been thrown into a concrete wall hard enough to leave a _crater! _No human being could survive that – not even counting the _hole punched through her stomach. _And that man…

That thought, of all things, helped centre her. He had been the one to kill Hami, to kill the others – she was sure of it. Those tendrils of blue… ‘essence’, Kihri had said, they were the exact same colour as the ones left inside the wounds., the same wound he’d inflicted on her. She had survived, but for… a ‘normal’ person, it would be lethal very quickly. And she didn’t count as normal any more, did she?

She looked down at the hammer again. It was true that it needed to be cleaned, but that wasn’t the only reason she had brought it with her. Since she’d picked it up, it hadn’t left her hand, and even now, she didn’t _want _it to. She _could_, she was pretty sure, but she didn’t want to – not a compulsion, just… instinct. It felt comfortable in her hand, somehow; familiar, or… _right. _

Still, it was best to be sure, so she moved the hammer to rest against the tiled wall, and lifted her fingers from-

Pain seared through her, like every part of her body had been set on fire in an instant. A strangled scream choked out of her as she collapsed, one hand grasping for the hammer.

The instant she made contact, the pain immediately began to retreat. Within moments, it had disappeared, leaving her full of adrenaline and panic again as her body raced to deal with pain that was no longer there. She clutched the hammer close to her chest as she panted, cradling it like a child.

“Uh, Z?” Kihri’s voice came from above her, muffled by the drum of the water, and a moment later, her head lowered into view. “I heard you scream, are you okay? Did something happen?”

She took a few moments before replying, trying to get her breath back. “<The hammer- I let go of the hammer, and it _hurt._>”

Her sister’s eyes narrowed. “<What hurt?>”

“<Everything. My entire body. It went away when I touched it again, though.>” Not a mistake she’d be making again any time soon.

When Kihri spoke again, her voice was full of anger. “<So… that _thing _is punishing you for letting go of it?!>”

Zarah shook her head, making her hair swish back and forth in front of her eyes. “<It… I don’t think so.>” She held up her free hand, inspecting it. As far as she could tell, it wasn’t actually damaged in any way, so maybe… “<I think… it might be all the pain that I accumulated? It was healing me before – maybe it’s not done yet?>”

Kihri didn’t exactly seemed pleased with that idea, but some of the tension slipped out of her face. “<If you’re right, then that’s _a lot _of pain, Zarah. You got fucking _spitroasted, _and not in the fun way.>”

She grimaced, shifting position slightly. “<I am _well aware_, thank you.>”

“<So, what? You just never let go of it now? Sleep with it under your pillow?>”

“<I’ll try again->” she said as she began to loosen her grip, but doing so brought back the memory of the pain, and her hand instinctively tightened around it.

“<..later. I’ll try again later. So that it has more time to heal me.>”

“<_If _that’s even what’s actually happening.>”

“<I suppose,>” Zarah grunted as she began to rise, “<that we’ll find out soon enough.>” She paused for a moment, looking down at the hammer, and then at the soaps on the rack. “<…it might make this a little difficult, though.>”

“<You don’t say.>”

* * *

Mulunesh Bzuayehu hated this country with all of her heart.

She hadn’t always – in fact, when she was young, she’d been practically obsessed with Ostra, seeing it as the home of the world’s greatest mechanical advancements. Age had dulled that enthusiasm some, but it wasn’t until she happened to make her home here, years later, that it truly soured into hatred. It was appropriate that she’d once thought of it in terms of machinery, because it _was _a machine, one that chewed up and spat out everything it could get its hands on. She’d once been naive enough to think that its small size and lack of prominence meant it would have no need to adopt the brutal, grinding methods of larger, more desperate nations, but now she knew better. Ostra only wanted for opportunity, not for willingness.

Of course, Ngina Ashad had not been perfect, either. Far from it – she’d left, after all, setting out with nothing to her name just to escape its cloying conformity and docility. But, especially in recent years, she’d found herself missing her homeland more and more – for the beaches, if nothing else. You couldn’t truly appreciate the coast until you’d lived surrounded by mountains, in her mind.

Which led to Zarah Vyas sitting opposite her at her dining room table. Freshly washed and wearing clothes that were worn and faded but clean, she still held that bizarre red hammer across her lap, clutching it tightly. She was hunched slightly, making her look a little bit shorter than she was, and she was thin in that hollow way people in her position usually were – she almost looked like she would be quite solidly built, under different circumstances, but it was hard to tell with how she held herself. Mulunesh had no trouble identifying the tension in her posture as the learned wariness that you saw so often in street kids. The way her eyes kept flicking to a particular spot on the side of the room, though, that was… strange. There was nothing there, as far as Mulunesh could see, but every time the girl thought she wasn’t watching, her eyes would dart back over there, her face flickering slightly with suppressed reactions.

As if she could see something that Mulunesh couldn’t.

“…thank you,” Zarah said, breaking the silence with her quiet, raspy voice. “Again. You did not have to do any of this, and we are-”

Mulunesh cut her off with a shake of the head. “And I’ll say, _again_, that you don’t owe me anything. I’m just doing what anyone would do.” The words rang false even as she said them, and Zarah seemed to feel the same way, as the corners of her mouth turned downwards slightly. “…but, you’re welcome.”

The girl only nodded in response, glancing down at the empty bowl in front of her. Mulunesh had almost been alarmed at how quickly, and _quietly_, she’d devoured the stew and rice. It was like watching a silent trash compactor, smoothly and efficiently packing as much food into each chew and swallow as it could. And still…

Mulunesh rose, then waved down Zarah as she began to rise. “Sit,” she instructed, picking up her empty bowl. “I’ll get you some more.”

“Oh, no, that is not-”

“Kid, it’s alright. No-one’s going to judge you for being hungry.”

She watched the hunger and the politeness war for dominance on her face, and hunger very quickly won. “…thank you, Mrs. B.”

Once Zarah had finished devouring a second, significantly larger portion, Mulunesh figured that they had danced around the point for long enough. “So,” she said, pushing her plate to the side and resting her arms on the table, “the whole story. From the beginning.”

And so she did, in her slightly stilted but perfectly understandable Brechtin. She told Mulunesh about a body torn into pieces and stuffed into a dumpster, about the policemen who claimed it was an accidental death. About people disappearing, about more mutilated corpses in sewers and landfills, and about the tiny strands of blue material in all the wounds.

Zarah paused for a moment to dig through her backpack, before coming up with a collection of ziplock bags, each containing a tiny amount of liquid, blue like the sky and slightly translucent.

“They melted?” Mulunesh asked.

“I… am not sure. They were not cold when we found them, but Ki- _I_ think they…” she trailed off, eyes darting off again. “Some kind of chemical reaction or decay,” she finished slowly, almost like she was reciting the words rather than speaking them.

Mulunesh decided to let it go, for now, and the rest of the story was a little more familiar. . At least, up until the power station, and the bodies.

“You…” she said, once Zarah was done. “Are you sure you’re okay?” The girl certainly didn’t _look _like she’d been thrown into multiple walls, but she also didn’t seem like she was lying.

“I… hope so.” She gestured with the hand holding the hammer, lifting it off of her lap slightly. “As long as I continue touching it, it seems to be fine.”

“And if you… stop touching it?”

She winced. “That… is a problem for later, I think.”

Mulunesh took another look at the hammer. She’d heard about things like it, of course – not in any sort of specifics, but back in her homeland, there had always been idle mutterings about the other nations and the Trine, and the powers they (apparently) possessed.

Here in Ostra, though, she’d never so much heard a whisper on the same subject. She’d just assumed it was the nation’s isolated nature, but now… maybe there was something more to it.

Zarah noticed her staring. “You do not…” she began to ask, but Mulunesh cut her off with a quick shake of the head.

“Sorry, kid, but I’m in the dark just like you.” Truth be told, she wasn’t exactly comfortable with a teenager carrying around what looked like a full-sized warhammer, but she knew a losing fight when she saw one.

“So,” she continued, changing the subject. “What are you planning to do now?”

Zarah’s face hardened, growing cold, and it was all Mulunesh could do to not let her anguish show on her face. “I have to find him. Before he hurts more people.”

“No,” she wanted so desperately to say, “you can’t. You’re a child. This is not your fault and it is not your responsibility,” and a million other things that were true but wouldn’t make any difference, would just drive her away.

“How?” she asked instead.

Zarah looked away again, but a genuine aversion of eye contact, not like before. “I… have some ideas.”

“…you understand that that sounds like you don’t have any ideas but don’t want to admit it, right?”

“I _have _a plan,” she insisted forcefully. “I just… cannot explain it to you.”

“Again, I’m sorry, but that just sounds like-”

Zarah cut her off with a frustrated growl, muttering under her breath. “_Elak zu’e mimla’re he- will_ not, not _cannot_, but one is two words and one is one and the same meaning they both have but they do not but that different also is and then ‘may not’ and-” she trailed off again into frustrated grumbling, then took a deep breath, and regained her composure. “I am sorry,” she stated slowly. “I greatly appreciate the kindness you have shown u- me, but I will not tell you that. It is not my right.”

She wasn’t going to be pushed on this, obviously, so Mulunesh let it go. “That’s alright. I apologise for prying.”

Zarah nodded thankfully, and began to rise, gathering up her plate and utensils.

“Wait!” Mulunesh blurted, then cursed internally. She hadn’t meant to- well, nothing left but to go for it now. “Can I- I would like to-” _And that’s why we don’t blurt things out, Mulu. _“Stay,” she said instead. “Please.”

Zarah’s reaction was about what she had expected, the instant shift of barriers going up, her face growing guarded, and she rushed to get ahead of it. “I don’t mean- I can’t, _won’t_, stop you from doing what you feel you have to do, but… I have a couch, I could use an extra pair of hands in the shop, and I could use the company.”

The girl stood there frozen for a moment, bowl still in her hands. “Why?” she said eventually, barely a question.

“I…” Mulunesh couldn’t help but stand as well. “…in the past, I haven’t helped people when I should have, and I haven’t been able to when I wanted to. I can’t… I can’t tell you what to do, but I can’t watch this _again_-” her voice cracked, and she took a deep breath to recover. “If I can’t stop you, and I can’t and won’t, then all I have left is trying to make sure you survive it.”

Zarah stood there in silence for a few moments, her expression unreadable. “…thank you again,” she said at last, barely audible, “for all your kindness.”

And with that, she picked up her bags and walked out of the room.


	6. Take A Walk

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which sisters fight and history is elucidated

“Nice going, dumbass.”

Rain had begun to fall, a brief patter from thin grey clouds that weren’t enough completely to block out the sun, but cast a pallor over the day. Zarah had her hood up anyway, so she barely noticed it, but the people around her were hurrying and grumbling as they rushed to keep dry.

“Seriously,” Kihri continued, “it’s amazing. Shelter, food, a job? Could be a _trap_, right? It’s definitely better out here, eating the same fucking garbage soup and playing _Caleb Cleveland: Kid Cop_! I’m proud of you!”

“<Shut up,>” Zarah snapped at her.

“<Make me,>” she shot back immediately. “What the _fuck _are you doing, man? That was our fucking ticket out of this shit!”

“<_My _ticket.>”

“Oh, please,” Kihri scoffed. “You’re never getting rid of me, shitster. Also, speak in Brechtin, there’s a dude behind you in a suit giving you racist-eyes.”

Zarah waited a few moments, then used the motion of adjusting her backpack to sneak a glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, a older white man in a nice suit was watching her with disgust in his eyes while he spoke on the phone.

She waited a moment, then pulled out her own phone like she was receiving a call and stepped to the side. “Hello? Yes, that is correct.”

Sure enough, he passed by her a moment later, moving by with nothing worse than a sneer. Zarah breathed a sigh of relief, and Kihri made an obscene gesture at his back. “Thank you for the warning,” she said, still under the guise of speaking on the phone.

“_Da nata,_” she replied easily – ‘no worries’. “There _is _a reason I keep pestering you about it, you know.”

“…I know,” Zarah admitted as she began walking again. “It is just… unpleasant.”

Kihri snorted. “Yeah, no shit. What _isn’t_ unpleasant, dude? When life shits on you, you can either complain about it or make fertiliser.”

“…I do not think that is a real saying.”

“Come on, if anyone would know, it’d be me!”

“If anyone would _lie, _it would be you.”

Kihri chuckled. “I _do _like lying.”

The rain began to fall harder, and Zarah ducked to the side, continuing forward underneath the line of awnings and overhangs that covered that part of the sidewalk.

“I’m not letting you get away with that, by the way,” Kihri noted.

“With what?”

“Don’t play dumb, dude, it’s a bad look on you even when it’s real. You looked over your shoulder a full five seconds before I pointed him out to you – you knew he was there, you just wanted me to point him out so you’d have an excuse to change the subject.”

“I would never do that.” _I would swear she was looking the other way_. “In fact, I am offended that you’d even accuse me of such.”

“Oh, is that the angle you’re gonna- nope, nope!” She cut herself, making a cross with her arms. “Not gonna let you deflect, Z! Why in the fuck did you turn her down?!”

“Why are you so eager to trust a stranger?” Zarah shot back. “Oh, that is right, it is because _you_ are not the one who would be in danger!”

“One, how fucking dare you. Two, we don’t know what would happen to me if you died, remember? Three, _how fucking dare you?!_” Zarah couldn’t help but flinch a little. “Is that really what you think of me?!”

“…I am sorry,” she admitted. “That was out of line.”

“Damn fucking straight.” The apology seemed to have mollified her, though. “Four, it’s not like she was that hard to figure out. I mean, you really can’t see it?”

“Evidently_._ Not.”

“Huh, alright then. She’s got a super obvious guilt complex about letting that kid and probably some others die or get abused or whatever, and she sees you as a chance to absolve herself by doing it right. Which, like, isn’t going to work, because guilt is way more insidious than that, but if it gets us shelter and a roof over our heads, I’m certainly not gonna point that out.”

Zarah stopped, blinking in amazement. “How on earth did you…?”

Kihri gave a self-satisfied smirk. “It’s basic psychology, dude. You should _really_ watch more TV.”

“…I doubt that would actually help.”

“Yeah, probably not,” she acknowledged. “Actually, though, I was watching some documentaries the other day and- argh, dammit, stop distracting me and answer the question! But also, remind me to tell you later about neurodiversity, I’ll remember what it means.”

They came to a large enough street to have a crosswalk, and Zarah used the timer to consider her answer. “It is not safe,” she finally said, as they began to cross, “to be there. Not,” she added quickly as Kihri opened her mouth, “because of her. Even _if_ she is genuine.”

“…not sure I follow.”

“Say we stay there. We eat her meals and sleep under her roof and work in her store, and we grow _soft_. And then something happens. She dies. The store burns down. Her rent goes up. _Anything. _And then we are out on the streets again, on our own, but now we are out of practise and slow and soft. What do you think happens next, Kihri?”

Her sister was silent for a moment. “Are you,” she said at last, “fucking with me?”

“What?” That had… not been the response she was expecting.

“Zarah,” she said through a chuckle, “every single thing you just listed is just part of life! Bad shit’s going to happen! Are you seriously saying that because things _might _go wrong, possibly, somehow, in the future, it’s better to do nothing?!”

“You are- intentionally misinterpreting me!”

“Nope, that’s _exactly _what you just said. Might not have been what you _meant_, but that’s how language works so suck an egg!”

“You- we would be _dependent_! We can make preparations, we can be cautious, but we cannot make _her _do any of those things! And even if we do everything right, everything perfect, I could still die because of _her _mistakes!”

“Again, I _cannot_ overstate how much that is _all of life-”_

_“Shut up!” _Kihri reeled back in shock. “Shut up! Enough with the jokes and barbs and- <How well has relying on anyone else worked for us in the past, Kihri?!>”

“You can’t…” Kihri protested weakly. “That’s not the same at all.”

“<It’s _exactly _the same, and you know it.>”

“<Alright, fine!>” she snapped back, some of her vigour returning. “<You wanna go there now?! Let’s fucking go, then! Let’s lay it _all out on the table. _How about with whose idea it was to begin with for us to go out, huh? Who was that again?!>”

“<Don’t you _dare!>” _Zarah yelled. “<We were _nine! _Do you know how many nights, how many nightmares, I’ve spent reliving it?! How much->”

“<_Look out!_>”

She spun around just in time to see a metallic blur spinning towards her face. Panic shot through her, and she raised a desperate arm-

-and caught it, metal crumpling under her fingers. It was a pop can, she realised, still half-full and dribbling brown liquid out the side.

Directly behind her, arm still outstretched, a young white man was staring, face frozen halfway between sneering and gaping.

They stood like that for a moment, frozen in mutual shock. Then, not even sure why, Zarah raised the can to her lips and took a sip.

_Ugh, cola. _

That broke the spell, and the man spun and hurried away, shoulders hunched.

“So,” Kihri said after a moment. “How about we table the argument for now.”

“Sounds good to me.” She took another sip of the soda. Unsurprisingly, it was still cola.

They walked in silence for a few minutes, the rain clearing up as the sun re-emerged. It was growing busier around them as they approached the city centre, with people emerging for their lunch breaks and smokes, and Zarah took advantage of their discomfort with her to duck through the crowds with relative ease.

“Do you actually have a plan?” Kihri asked, floating above her, facing downwards with her arms behind her head like she was in a pool. “I mean, I know you said all that shit to Bzuayehu, but be honest.”

She’d put away her phone, but pulled it out again now. “I do, yes. And it involves you, which is why I could not tell her about it.”

Kihri raised a spectral eyebrow. “Since when have you cared about telling people about me?”

Zarah used moving the crowd as an excuse to avoid meeting her gaze.

“Oh, I get it. You don’t want her to find out you’re crazy, right?”

“I am _not_. Crazy.”

“Sure, sure,” Kihri said amiably. “All sane people hallucinate their dead sister, right?”

“Can we please not do this again?” Zarah asked wearily. “I understand you enjoy buying the well, but I am trying to be serious.”

“Ugh, you’re no fun. Fine.” She paused, and Zarah could almost see her trying to restrain herself. “Also, use ‘playing devil’s advocate’ in Brechtin. Also also, that’s not even a good translation, because ‘buying’ doesn’t have the same connotation as ‘veshtr’ of-”

“Kihri, I do not care.”

“You should,” she pouted. “What’s this genius plan of yours, then, that you won’t tell a potential mother figure because it makes you look crazy?”

“I need you to touch the blue stuff.”

There was a beat of silence. “Okay,” Kihri said after a moment, “you _have _to know that sounded dirty, right?”

“Kihri-”

“Oh, don’t worry, we’re gonna get there. I just wanted to point it out. I mean, really, pretty much any sentence that starts-”

“_Kihri._”

“Fine,” she huffed. “No, and also, fuck you.”

“What do you mean, no?”

“N-O, nuh-uh, nope, not gonna do it, ain’t fuckin’ happening. Find another plan.”

“But- why?”

“Cause I don’t want to. Drop it.”

Zarah stopped walking. “<Kihri, this is _important_. We might be able to find out where he is, who he is planning to attack next, if->”

“_Bzzt_! Incorrect! ‘We’ ain’t gonna find out shit! _I _would!”

“<And?>” Zarah demanded furiously. “<Kihri, someone’s life could be on the line->”

“<My life _is _on the line!>” she yelled. “<You might be eager to throw yourself away after some stupid fucking ideal, but I am _not._>”

“<…_what _are you _talking about?! _You’re not in any danger!>”

“<Of course you don’t get it,>” she spat, disgusted. “<Cause that’d require getting your head out of your own ass and trying to understand someone else’s framework, right?>”

“<Say what you actually mean,>” Zarah snapped back, “<instead of trying to bludgeon me with fancy words.>”

“<Oh, you want simple? I can do _simple_.>” She shot forward, and Zarah instinctively jerked away. “<_All _I _am _is my memories, Zarah. That’s true for everyone, but it’s even more true for me, because they’re _all I have. _And you know what happened when I touched that hammer? I didn’t just _magically _get knowledge, I got _her _memories. Like they were my own! Are you seeing the problem yet?>”

All Zarah’s anger drained away in an instant. “<Kihri… I… I didn’t realise…>”

She let out a long, suffering sigh and backed away slightly. “<…to be fair, it’s not like I told you. But, do you understand how _scary _that was, Z? How scary it _is? _I remember _being _her, I remember->” she choked, looking sick.

“<…I can’t tell the difference,>” she said instead. “<I know they’re not my memories because they don’t have any context, but they _feel _the same, they’re indistinguishable! And that means that the more I… _absorb_, the harder they’ll be to tell apart, and that’s not even getting into the possibility that they’re overwriting my own memories, because _how would I know?! _I just wouldn’t remember anymore!>”

“<…do you… do you think that’s happened?>”

She laughed bitterly. “<I don’t _fucking know_, dude. There’s literally no way to know. So I’m sorry, but there’s no way in the hells that I’m going to kill myself, _again, _for your little crusade.>”

“<It’s not-!>” she bit down on the knee-jerk response. “<…you’re right. I’m sorry.>”

“<No fucking shit I’m right.>” There wasn’t any bite to it, though, and she mostly just looked exhausted. “Look, I’m sorry too,” she continued, switching languages again now that her composure had recovered. “I know how important this is to you, and I’m sorry I can’t help.”

“It is not ‘important to me’, it is just _important_,” she countered. It wasn’t a good feeling, having to go from being able to properly articulate herself to stumbling over every sentence, but she wasn’t going to push the issue right now. “Any… <Evil is as much the product of apathy on the part of good than it is malice on the part of the evil>.”

“Quote scripture at me again and I’ll _show _you malice up close and personal.”

“Sorry.” One of the words stuck in her head, though, and she mulled it over. “…actually, Kihri, I believe you might be able to help after all.”


	7. Beast

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the twins follow a trail and a fight begins on false premises

The sign above the entrance to the lobby read ‘ARUSPEX’ in big, blocky red letters, which seemed eerily appropriate to Zarah.

“This is it?” she asked Kihri again.

“No, in the thirty seconds since you last asked, reality rewrote itself to make it a different building _yes this is it_.”

Compared to some of the other skyscrapers, it was fairly short – maybe forty stories at most. Which was still much much higher than any building Zarah was comfortable with, but it was something to note.

It had taken a few goes, throwing out random topics in the hopes that one would catch, but eventually they had managed to spark another one of the memories Kihri had already absorbed.

She described it as sitting at a desk in a corner office, fairly high up, but surrounded by taller skyscrapers – presumably, this Yanis Metzin at her job. They’d had a more involved plan for narrowing down the buildings that it could apply to, but as soon as they’d passed Aruspex, Kihri had stopped, staring up at the sign and insistently hushing Zarah whenever she tried to say something.

There was a reason they didn’t usually come to this part of town, though, and after just a few minutes Zarah was really wishing she’d paid it more mind. Being a an obviously homeless, obviously non-white teenage girl amidst a bunch of high-powered, predominantly white business-whatevers was a quick shortcut to having the cops called on her, and _that _was a quick shortcut to being another corpse rotting in a dumpster. Kihri’s eventual confirmation that it was the correct place had let them do another loop around the block, but she was beginning to feel the weight of the stares on the back of her neck.

That _should _have been enough motivation to get moving, but… every time she started to move, the image of the body under the power station flashed into her head again, stopping her cold. Whoever Yanis Metzin was, she was clearly capable of horrible, vicious brutality. And they were about to walk right up to where she worked, and… do what, exactly?

Her fingers tightened on the hammer. _Be honest, Zarah. You know exactly what you are going to do. _

“Oh, good,” Kihri commented as she began walking forward towards the entrance. “Nice timing, pretty sure someone over there was about to narc on us. Actually, you know what, they still are. Maybe move faster?”

Zarah didn’t bother to reply, ducking between a few small groups of people crowding the sidewalk, and managed to slide into a section of the revolving door just before it moved past. The people inside glanced at her suspiciously, but it was only a moment before they’d reached the other side and had to step out, distracting them. She used that moment to dart away, moving behind a pillar without actually looking like she was hiding. 

It was something she’d had plenty of experience with, but, of course, having an invisible spotter didn’t hurt either.

“Okay, yeah,” Kihri was saying, “group moving by, lady at the desk is picking up her phone… now, go.”

Following her sister’s instructions, Zarah maneuvered her way across the foyer, keeping herself out of sight of the front desk, the security guard posted up near the entrance and the two cameras in opposite corners. There was no way to avoid being exposed when getting in an elevator, but it was only for a few moments, and Kihri helped her time it to minimise the risk.

“Which floor?” she asked once the doors had closed.

“…hm.”

“You cannot remember?”

“Didn’t come up, funnily enough.” She bit her lip, thinking. “Okay, try… 38, I think. We’ll work our way down from there if it isn’t.”

Zarah frowned at her as the lift began to move. “It is already risky being here, Kihri. I do not think moving through multiple floors is a good idea.”

“Just two, I promise. Once I have the view to compare, I’ll be able to figure it out.”

“You will better.”

“‘Had better’, not ‘will better’ – I know it’s weird, but-” Zarah fixed her with a withering stare, and she cut herself short. “Worth a shot.”

“<If it’s in the future, why isn’t it future tense?>” Zarah grumbled to herself as they rose. She kept it quiet enough that Kihri couldn’t hear, though.

Stepping out of the elevator was actually a little disconcerting. There had been barely any sense of movement at all, and yet, through the plate glass that lined the edges of the room, they had risen… higher than she’d ever been, now that she thought about it.

_Probably best not to get too close to the windows._

Kihri had already floated on ahead, and Zarah did her best to catch up without looking like she was rushing. The actual layout of the floor was nothing special – unevenly-spaced gray cubicles, with offices along two of the parallel walls. The elevator opening had gotten a few glances, but nothing more than that – most of the workers were keeping their heads down, and the ones that weren’t were on the phone.

“Second from the left,” Kihri was muttering as she caught up, “double-Ls above the flowerpot, blue neon next to poster.” Her eyes kept flickering open and closed again, getting quick, repeated glances. “Zarah, how many offices on the other side?” She decided it would be better to stay silent, and held up five fingers. “Okay, and can you see a building in the reflection out that window? One with a grey and blue sign?”

She glanced behind her, quickly finding the one she’d described, and gave a quick nod.

“Awesome.” She stopped, right in front of another office, one with the lights off and the door closed. “That means this is it.”

Zarah blinked. “Wait- but-”

With a silent smirk, Kihri pointed to the nameplate next to the door, which read ‘YANIS METZIN’.

“Kihri-!”

“Don’t worry, don’t worry,” she cut in, holding up her hands. “I did actually need to figure it out, I wasn’t messing with you. This just confirmed it.”

“Oh. Sorry.”

“Also, it’s not future tense, it’s unreal past. That’s why it’s ‘had’.”

“…you are _truly _insuffering, you understand?”

“Aww, I’m flattered.” She paused for a moment, looking incredibly smug. “But, it’s-”

“Kihri. I do not care.”

She stepped forward, free hand on the door’s handle, but found herself paralysed.

“Dude,” Kihri said, a little more gently, “it’s an empty office. There’s not gonna be anything in there where other people could see it.”

“…right, yes. You are right.” She nodded, steeling herself, then pushed down the handle and let the door swing inwards.

And at the exact same moment, a blaring alarm tore through the air.

Zarah spun around, heart racing, ready to lash out, but no-one was paying any attention to her. Instead, they were all standing up from their desks, looking surprisingly unconcerned. Most of them seemed… kinda grumpy, actually? Through the murmured complaints, Zarah thought she heard the words “not again” and “third time this month”.

“It’s a fire alarm,” Kihri said, having got to the solution first. “Weird timing, but I don’t think it’s got anything to do with you.” She began to move inside the room. “Come on, let’s take a look.”

Zarah glanced over her shoulder, at the crowd of people slowly disappearing through the fire stairs. “Should we not… leave? If there is a fire? I would very much prefer to leave, actually.”

“Ugh, you’re such a worrywart. It’s probably just a drill.” She darted over to the plate glass, and then stuck her entire torso out through it, looking down. “Yep,” she confirmed as she returned. “No smoke anywhere, no shattered windows. 99% chance it’s a drill. Besides, if it isn’t, you can just jump out a window and have your new magic powers fix you up.

Zarah shuddered. “I would prefer if we not test that.”

“Wuss.”

“Oh? Well, if I am died because of this, I will haunt you forever.”

“Honestly,” Kihri said with a shrug, “I’ve probably earned it.”

The office was dimly lit – while it had the same plate glass as the rest of the floor, there were thin grey shades hanging from what looked like automatic rollers, covering most of the windows and reducing the light to a dim dribble. Even with that, though, it became almost immediately obvious that this office was as uninteresting as everything else had been. An L-shaped desk took up the back half of the room, with a filing cabinet in the opposite back corner, and a dull red chair tucked underneath. Immediately to the left of the entrance was a dull red couch that was so close to the floor it looked like it had been designed for a child – to the right, a large potted plant that turned out to be fake. Two cheaper-looking black chairs sat in front of the desk, arranged neatly, and there were not one but two large and expensive monitors off to the left of the desk. There wasn’t a computer immediately visible, but cables leading downwards meant it was probably hidden underneath. Apart from that, the desk was sparse – a keyboard and mouse, a pen holder, a closed notebook, another nameplate, and a single framed photograph, face down.

Kihri voiced what they were both thinking. “Well, this is boring.”

“You said it is just an office. Were you expecting murder paintings?”

“No- …maybe. Okay, yes, a little bit.”

In unspoken agreement, they split off, Zarah going straight for the desk, while Kihri floated around the edges of the room, inspecting the details. With only one of them having the ability to actually physically interact with things, it made sense for Zarah to actually look through things, while Kihri tried to notice small details or things out of place. Admittedly, they usually used to determine how safe a place was, but the basic principles were the same.

The photo frame turned out to be of two women, both white, one tall and lean and the other average height and stockier. The taller one, who had straight black hair, was looking down at her companion, eyes crinkled and lips raised, one arm on her shoulder. She, on the other hand, was staring straight at the camera with a blank face.

“Which do you think is?” Zarah asked Kihri, angling the frame towards her.

Her sister poked her head out of the filing cabinet. “Which is Metzin, you mean? Mmmm, the tall one, I reckon. That smile creeps me out.”

“Who is the other women, then?”

“I’unno. Wife, sister? Friend? Fuck-buddy?”

“Fuck… buddy?”

Kihri winced. “…uh, I’ll explain when you’re older.” She ducked back inside the filing cabinet, and Zarah shelved it for later. She put the photo frame back where it was, and clicked on the mouse a few times to wake the computer. Unsurprisingly, she was met with a lockscreen over a generic background, with no hint function.

“Too much to hope for the password on a sticky-note, huh?” Kihri had floated over to her, and hovered just above and behind her shoulder.

“Is people do that?”

“_Do_ people do that, and sadly, yes.” She bit her lip, then darted in closer. “Okay, leave it, we don’t have the time to get in. These are _nice _monitors, though. Wanna take one? We could get like seven or eight hundred, easy.”

Zarah _wasn’t _a thief. She didn’t like the term – quite apart from the connotations, it implied that it was a primary source of income, or at least something she was committed or skilled to.

Sure, she’d stolen things before – that was just a reality of being homeless. But she didn’t do it regularly, and certainly didn’t practice at it.

The prospect of seven hundred nac, though, was enough to make her seriously consider it. “No,” she ultimately decided. “Someone will see.”

“Ah, good point. Shame, though.”

Zarah couldn’t agree more.

She was about to move on to the drawers underneath the desk when Kihri’s head jerked towards the door. “Someone’s coming,” she said tersely.

It was only a moment before Zarah could hear it too – footsteps, soft on the carpeted floors, but distinct. “_Hide?” _she mouthed at Kihri, who nodded.

“I’ll go check it out,” she replied, but before she even made it to the door, it swung open, and a figure stepped inside.

“Well,” they said, glancing at Zarah. “I have to admit, was not expecting this.”

They were dark-skinned, with vaguely Coastal features, and almost shockingly short – their head barely came up to Zarah’s chin. Despite that, they were wearing an obviously-bespoke suit, black with a white shirt and pale red tie. Their black, curly hair was pinned up in two messy buns, and they wore a pair of circular glass with smoky black lenses that completely obscured their eyes. The whole look managed, in spite of their height, to give them a mature, professional appearance – they reminded Zarah of a secret agent in a movie Kihri had made her watch years ago.

“The cleaners, I presume,” they said dryly, adjusting the watch on their wrist.

“I- ah,” Zarah stammered. “We- um-”

“Don’t bother,” Kihri said. “They obviously know we’re not.” She sounded distracted, and when Zarah tore her eyes away from the stranger, she found that she was staring intently, not at them, but at the ground next to them.

“I’m going to presume you’re _not _Yanis Metzin, then. Much too young, for starters.” Their eyes flickered downwards, and when Zarah followed them, she realised with a start that she was holding the hammer in front of her. It was still wrapped up, but a tiny portion of its surface was exposed.

“Then again,” they continued, softer still and even more intense, “you might still be who I’m looking for.”

Before Zarah could reply, they darted forward. She jerked away, but ran straight into the front of the desk, and the stranger used that moment where she was off-balance to grab the cloth wrapped around the hammer and rip it away with startling strength.

She instinctively lashed out, swinging the weapon awkwardly in front of her, but they had already stepped back out of reach, and it hit nothing but air.

The stranger’s gaze was locked on the hammer now, and their presence was so intense that Zarah almost thought she could feel it in the air, like a physical force.

“I suppose,” they said, voice tense and controlled, “I should give you at least a single chance to offer up some kind of explanation.”

“Oh shit,” Kihri breathed suddenly, “Zarah, they-”

“Nothing could _possibly _be sufficient, though” they continued, “so let’s not bother.” They raised a hand to their mouth and let out a piercing whistle, then pointed at Zarah. “It’s better than you deserve, anyway.”

“Zarah,” Kihri said urgently, “it’s the hammer! You have to tell them-”

Whatever she said past that, Zarah missed it, distracted as she was by the glow of red light forming in front of her. Just too late, she realised that it wasn’t just getting brighter, but closer as well. It slammed into her chest, toppling her backwards over the desk and knocking the monitors to the floor with a loud _crash_.

Splayed awkwardly over the desk, edge digging into her lower back, with… whatever it was crushing her chest should have been excruciating. It _did _hurt, but she could instantly tell it wasn’t as bad as it was supposed to be. _Small blessings, I suppose._

There was another loud whistle, two descending tones, and Zarah gasped as the pressure on her chest suddenly increased, driving the air out of her lungs. Her one free arm flailed desperately behind her as the pressure continued to increase, until she finally managed to find the leg of the toppled chair.

With it as leverage, she pushed herself upwards, shoving the weight upwards and away with the arm underneath it.

As was quickly becoming a pattern, she had underestimated her new strength. Whatever the red thing was, it went _flying _upwards, slamming into the ceiling hard enough to dislodge one of the panels and send a cloud of dust pluming outwards.

It began to fall almost immediately, but Zarah, with a nimbleness that surprised even herself, kicked her legs up, rolling off the desk and dropping to the floor in a crouch, just before it landed and smashed the desk in half, and for the first time she got a proper look at it.

It was some kind of animal, that much was immediately obvious. Four legs, head, tail; she would guess it was some kind of dog, except that it was much bigger than any dog she’d ever seen, closer to a panther or wild cat in size. Like she’d assumed, it was made out of red light, identical to the hammer, and no longer glowing now that it had fully formed. As her brain properly processed what she was looking at, though, she realised that ‘made of’ wasn’t the right term. It wasn’t _solid_ – geometric planes formed the shape of an animal, but through small gaps it was possible to see out the other side.

_Like armour, _the thought came unbidden, _on an invisible dog. _

And then it had recovered its footing, and leapt at her again, front… _paws _outstretched.

She swung the hammer, aiming to knock it aside, but it was faster than she was expecting, and the blow only clipped its side. It was still enough to adjust its course, though, which meant that in turn _it _only clipped _her_, sending a line of burning pain along the side of her stomach.

The dog – Zarah resolved to just call it that, regardless of what it actually was – smacked into the glass wall behind her, hard enough to send a few cracks shooting through it. Everyone froze, but after a moment of stillness, it became clear that they weren’t going to spread.

Regardless, it was as good a sign as any that this was not a good place to be. The dog was still getting up, so she risked taking her gaze off it for a moment, and vaulted back over the desk towards the door, where the stranger was still standing. She already had momentum, so she just kept going, barrelling towards them in a barely-controlled rush. She didn’t actually want to hit them, just get them out of the way so she could make a break for it.

Sure enough, they waited til the last moment, face inscrutable behind their glasses, then darted to one side with that same surprising speed as before. Zarah immediately tried to slow, but as she passed through the doorway, she felt something shove her from behind, sending her crashing straight into a cubicle wall. It toppled immediately, of course, but she managed to land on her feet on the other side – a feat that she wasn’t sure she could’ve explained the mechanics of if someone asked.

The dog was already bounding towards her, the segmented plates around where a mouth would be drawn back in a way that made her think of a snarl. The lack of sound accompanying it was a little off-putting, actually – it made it feel unreal. _Because otherwise this would be totally normal, right? _

Instead of swinging, she grabbed the hammer’s shaft just below the head with her other hand and brought it up just in time to catch the dog’s jaws on the bar. It immediately caught, and now that she was close enough, she could see that the plates were actually ridged in the vague shape of teeth, which was… disturbing.

The dog tried to pull the hammer away, whipping its head from side to side and creating a strange, muted scratching sound as the plates scraped against the hammer’s shaft. It was strong, too, and Zarah nearly lost her grip as it yanked around. She held on, though, and finally won the tug-of-war by planting one foot against the dog’s body and pushing it away as she pulled on the hammer.

It was sent backwards, rolling and tumbling over the debris, and Zarah took the opportunity to run away towards the elevator, down the row of cubicles, ducking low to hide from view. The floor was carpeted, so hopefully her footsteps wouldn’t be audible, but she couldn’t tell for sure over the blood roaring in her ears.

She rounded the corner of the last cubicle, skidding slightly to avoid crashing into the wall, and found her path towards the elevator – _wait, no, no time _– to the _fire stairs _a few feet beyond the elevator unobstructed. The stranger must have gone after their dog instead-

Pain spiked through her knee, and she collapsed as it buckled under her weight, sending her tumbling to the floor. She tried to turn it into a roll to recover, but the injured leg wasn’t listening to her anymore, and the best she could manage was an awkward skid on her elbows and one knee.

The stranger stepped out from behind a cubicle, one hand at their mouth, and released another piercing two-tone whistle, descending this time. They didn’t approach, though, so Zarah took the risk of glancing down at her knee to assess the damage, and then nearly threw up.

There was a _knife _stabbed _through _it. It was buried up to the hilt in the back of her knee, and the last inch or two was protruding from the front, dripping with blood.

_Huh, _was all she thought, and the incongruity of that was almost enough to make her giggle. _Shock, probably_. If so, it was a good thing, because if she’d been clear-headed there was no way she’d have done what she did next, which was to reach down, grab the knife’s handle and yank it out.

It made an unpleasant _schlurping _noise as it came free, and for the first time, the stranger was thrown off, their face full of disgust and confusion. _You and me both. _Zarah tossed the knife to the side, sending it bouncing away, and began hauling herself to her feet. Already, she could feel the pain fading, the wound presumably knitting itself back together.

She still couldn’t actually control the leg below the knee, though, but that was just because it was a more severe wound, and took more time to heal.

She hoped.

“What you think I did,” Zarah began to say, “it was-” That was as far as she managed to get before the dog came barrelling in from the side and smashed into her, slamming them both against the wall.

She threw it off with a growl, sending it flying back the way it came. Every time! Every time she thought she had bought herself _a second, _the other one came swooping back in. It was… _infuriating. _She felt like an _animal_, being hunted and hounded and-

The stranger took a step backwards, widened eyes obvious even with the glasses, and Zarah froze, foot halfway off the ground. She hadn’t even realised she’d been moving towards them.

The two of them stood frozen like that for a moment, until the sound of debris being tossed aside jarred Zarah into action. She turned and sprinted away towards the stairs, as the rhythmic gate of the dog grew louder and closer again. After a moment, there was the same whistle as before, which obviously meant ‘follow’ or ‘attack’ or something similar.

She made it to the door just before the dog, slipping through and slamming it shut just in time to catch the impact of its charge. There was no way to lock it, that would have defeated the whole point of a fire escape, so she didn’t bother trying, and instead started on the stairs, taking them two at a time in staggered hops, using the rails as pivots to keep up her momentum on the landings and turns. She could hear her pursuers above, but she didn’t bother looking back. Up, really.

“Well,” Kihri suddenly said from beside her, “that didn’t go great.”

Zarah jerked to the side as she spoke, nearly losing her footing. “Where did go?” she demanded.

Kihri gave a half-shrug. “Away,” she replied vaguely. “I was getting some seriously bad mojo from the freaky dog thing, and you know the K-Train’s safety always comes first.”

“Do not understanding most of those words, do not care.” She realised she hadn’t remembered to count the flights, and now had no idea how far down they were.

As usual, though, Kihri was one step ahead of her. “Ten floors down, only… _thirty _to go. Jeez. How you feeling?”

“Fine,” she said, and was surprised to find out it was true. Her knee was already fully healed, and barely hurt beyond a dull ache. “Good, even.”

“Ugh, this is still gonna take forever, though!”

“I will not throwing myself out a window, Kihri.”

“_Ugh.” _She pouted. “You’re no fun.”

“And you are not funny, so I suppose none is perfect.”

“…was that a _joke? _Did you just crack a-”

With a metallic squeal, the door on the landing directly in front of them was thrown open, revealing the stranger and the dog behind it. Their face was drawn into a tight scowl, sweat beading on their forehead, but almost instantly it was replaced with a look of alarm, as they realised in almost the same moment Zarah did that she wasn’t going to be able to stop in time.

Which, of course, was just too late for either of them to do anything about it.

Zarah slammed into the stranger, lifting them off their feet as they were carried along with her momentum. Whether intentionally or not, their legs tangled with hers, and they were both sent tumbling, just as they collided with something hard. It was the wall, of course, which she figured out while they were approximately halfway through it, plaster shattering and dust pluming.

They hit the ground together, tumbling and rolling in a mess of flying limbs. Something hard smashed against Zarah’s skull, and she reared back, only for the back of it to then slam into something else, pinballing her back forward.

Bruised and battered, they came to a stop, and she immediately tried to get back on her feet, a process that was made more difficult by half of her limbs being stuck underneath the stranger, who was significantly heavier than they looked.

It took a good shove to free herself, and she finally managed to stand up, shaking out the pins and needles.

For once, something had gone in her favour: the stranger was having a much harder time recovering than she was. Their nose was bleeding, suit rumpled and torn, and as they staggered upwards, they spat blood to one side.

Zarah opened her mouth to speak, but something on the edge of hearing made her stop. Instead, instinct made her spin around, free hand outstretched, just in time to catch the dog as it lunged at her.

The impact jarred her arm and shoulder, but that didn’t stop her from slipping her fingers underneath the edge of one of the plates, and using it as leverage to throw it at the stranger.

An instant before it made contact, the plates on that side disintegrated into light, starting at the furthest point and moving towards her at a speed equal to its moment. The end result was strangely beautiful, almost as if the dog had disappeared into a portal in front of the stranger.

Even without the effect she’d been hoping for, though, it still have Zarah a second of leeway. She glanced back towards the stairwell, but then hesitated.

_They got ahead once, they can do it again. 30 more stories gives them plenty of opportunities, too. But, they don’t actually seem to have any abilities themselves, like the tentacles or-_

She spun the other way, towards the plate glass windows. Outside, she could see the roof of another building, about 10 stories down.

_-like healing. _

_…Kihri’s gonna be so smug._

The dog had begun to reform, red light seeming to flow out of the ground to form its plates. The stranger’s hand was inside their jacket, rummaging around, but they froze as Zarah looked at them.

“I did not make this,” she found herself saying, even though she hadn’t intended to speak. “_ I did not do things that you think I did. Or anything.”_

For a second, it seemed like maybe she had gotten through. Then, their face twisted, and their hand reemerged from the jacket.

Zarah had already turned away, though, sprinting towards the windows at the end of the room.

Compared to the other floors, this one was relatively undamaged, most of the cubicles and furniture still in place apart from where they’d crashed through some. With her free hand, she grabbed a desk by the metal leg as she passed, crouching slightly, and used the pivot it provided to begin a spinning throw, planting her foot and dragging the desk around behind her. She spun fully around once, building momentum while still moving forward, and released it just as it broke in two, sending both halves flying towards the glass at incredible speed.

There was a deafening _crack, _and for a second she thought she’d broken it on the first go, but a moment later the pieces actually impacted with a much duller _crunch_. Cracks spiderwebbed through the glass from where they hit, as well as a third point, but it didn’t shatter completely.

An instant later, her mind connected the first noise and the third impact point, and chanced a glance over her shoulder. Sure enough, the stranger was holding a small pistol in one hand, walking forward as they aimed.

_Aren’t you supposed to hold it with both hands? _a small part of her mind wondered. Only a small part, though, because the rest felt like it had just fallen into ice water, panic and adrenaline and fear coursing through her. She’d already been reaching for another desk, but now instinctively she tossed it behind her instead of throwing it forward. Another shot rang out, and she flinched and nearly tripped, but she hadn’t been hit. It didn’t feel like she’d been hit, at least. You knew when you were shot, right? Wait, or do people keep on going and not even realise until they’re dead? She thought she’d heard that somewhere, but- Where was Kihri? She’d know the answer, and what to do, and what the stranger was doing and-

Her vision blurring around the edges, she managed to grab onto a cubicle wall and throw it backwards. The short yelp of surprise and anger that followed would have probably brought her a little vindictive satisfaction, but she could barely hear it, let alone process it.

The window was right ahead now, barely holding itself together, and outside was the sky and the air and gravity and-

If she’d been given a choice in that moment, Zarah probably wouldn’t have gone through with it. Fortunately, or un-, though, momentum and physics made the decision for her. An incoherent scream tearing out of her throat, she lifted her arms to cover her face, smashed through the glass, and went soaring out into the air.


	8. Brave As A Noun

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we take a short diversion to appreciate nature

The Glasstree Mountains were a huge disappointment. There were no glass trees at all! Just boring, solid, brown ones, exactly like every other tree he’d ever seen. They weren’t even coloured like glass! Whoever had named them, Remy Auclair decided, had been a real big doodoo-head.

_Wait, does glass have colours? Is see-through a colour? Does _air _have colours?!_

Distracted by the thought of polka-dot air, he stopped paying attention to where he was going, and walked right off the edge of a cliff.

He yelped as he tumbled forward, disappearing from view. A few moments later, there was a cacophonous _crash_, followed by many smaller ones.

At the bottom of the cliff, Remy hopped gracefully off of the trunk of the huge tree as it rolled to a stop, then plopped himself down onto the stump of one of the others, heaving a dramatic sigh.

“They don’t even shatter like glass!” he complained to the empty forest around him. “This country sucks.”

The trees had no response to this.

With another sigh, he hauled himself upright, dusting the wood chips and dust off of his clothes. He was wearing a long grey coat with a fluffy hood, and he spent a few minutes meticulously picking fragments out of it, ignoring that his black-and-blonde hair was also completely filled with them. Once that was done, he casually kicked the large trunk with one foot, sending it spinning away to knock down a swathe of trees off to one side, and resumed walking, hands in pockets.

He wasn’t moving very fast, a brisk stroll at best, and his path switchbacked up over the mountain, and yet his progress was practically blistering. If one was paying attention, though, the reason quickly became obvious – he didn’t stop. Hour after hour, he kept strolling forward, whistling or humming or singing or pontificating, never stopping or breaking. In fact, one would also notice that he never even stopped to drink or eat.

If one was extremely attentive, they would _also _notice that, during the infrequent periods of silence, he stopped breathing entirely.

The sun had begun to set by the time he reached the peak, painting dim orange across the crowds, and glinting off of the lights of Kaila at the other end of the valley. It was generally considered to be a beautiful sight, but oddly, there were no lookouts or paths up the side of the mountain, despite there being a small city at the foot. Instead, barely visible through the foliage even from above, there was a small concrete outpost, unmarked and unobtrusive. From below, it was completely invisible – as were the numerous others positioned at regular intervals along the mountain range, uniform in design and height.

Remy stopped on a small ridge just above the station, and puckered his lips as he stared at it. Then, he shrugged, and kept walking, moving straight down the mountainside past it.

He’d only made it a few metres before the small, metal door in the side of the outpost banged open, and two men came stumbling out.

“Stop!” they both yelled, slightly out of sync. They were both Westerners, with fair skin and dark hair, but one was quite tall and broad while the other was short and slim. Both looked to be maybe 30, or a poor late twenties, and they wore identical uniforms of black and red, with stiff coats and trousers. A small emblem was stitched over the left breast, an antique-looking helmet with a sword stabbed straight through the top.

They were both also carrying large automatic weapons, which they levelled at Remy as he turned to face them.

“Freeze!” the taller of the two men yelled. “Put your hands behind your head and get on your knees!”

“In which order?” Remy asked, confused.

“What?!”

“Should I kneel and put my hands behind my head, and then freeze? Or should I freeze and then… put my hands behind my head… without moving…” a frown settled over his face, and his brow furrowed. “Okay, if I do it in like, robot-style, does that count as moving?”

“…robot style?” the shorter one asked, and was immediately fixed with a withering glare by his companion.

“Yeah, you know, robot style!” Remy locked his head and arms up at stiff angles, and began moving them as independent sections in swift, jerky motions. “See, so like that way I’m not moving? Or like, I am moving, but I’m moving less? Is that okay?”

“Put,” the taller one repeated, “your hands behind your head, and get down on your knees!”

“And then freeze?”

“Now!”

“Okay!” Remy began to move his hands, but then stopped. “Actually, you know what? I think I don’t want to.”

“This is your last warning!”

“Sure,” he replied with a shrug, and began walking again in the same direction he’d been going before. “What happens after-”

Both soldiers opened fire.

Remy frowned, looking almost wounded. Emotionally, that is, not physically.

“Guys!” he protested. “Why’d you do that? I thought we were getting along-”

They shot him again.

“Gu-uys!” he wailed, tears beading in his eyes. “How could you do this to me?”

“What the fuck are you?!” the tall man yelled at him, voice trembling.

Remy sniffed, pouting, and raised a single hand towards them with an open palm. “I really thought you were nice.”

He took a step forward, both soldiers took a step back, and then they both disappeared into thin air.

For a moment, he just stood there, frozen in place. Then he shrugged, lowered his hand, and resumed walking the direction he’d been going before. After a moment, the arm he’d raised began to twitch violently, until he reached out and tapped the trunk of a tree with one finger.

The twitching instantly ceased, and with a deafening _crack, _the ancient redwood exploded into powder and splinters.

* * *

“He’s not even going to question it?”

“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, dear Myra, but our Messer Auclair isn’t exactly the sharpest knife in the drawer. In fact, I suspect he may well be a spoon.”

They watched as Remy disappeared over a small ridge, once again beginning to hum a simple tune, with an excess of enthusiasm and a deficiency of skill. Or, Dr. Khoura watched, at least. Myra was trying to, but most of her attention was consumed with dragging the unconscious soldiers over to the side and propping them up against a tree.

“And _he’s _who the Tenebrate sent? Wouldn’t they want someone…”

“Competent?” the doctor finished with a warm smile, making Myra blush. “Yes, quite.” She was an older woman, olive-skinned, wearing a beige headscarf over her hair and neck. A tall, aquiline nose supported a pair of half-moon pince-nez, and the hazel eyes behind them were lined with a warm humour. She, too, wore a uniform, although one could be forgiven for not noticing: it was utterly unlike those the soldiers wore, considerably finer and better-fitting. In addition, its trim was not red, but instead a purple so pale it almost appeared white. The uniform’s coat was slung over her shoulders, and the cane in her hand was simple varnished wood with an undecorated handle.

Myra, on the other hand, had removed her shirt and tied it around her waist, the white tank-top she wore stained with sweat. As she moved, it was possible to catch a glimpse of the rich blue trim that it bore. She was considerably taller and broader than the doctor (and by extension most people), built like the brick outhouse that brick outhouses use. Her frizzy black hair had started to come loose from its bun, and as she reached up to fix it Dr. Khoura didn’t bother to pretend she wasn’t enjoying the view.

Myra noticed and blushed, dropping her arms quickly. “Why him, then?” she asked, hurriedly, shrugging her uniform shirt back on. “Heck, I’m kinda surprised the entire Blackguard isn’t knocking on our door right now, if what they’re saying is true.”

“That’s certainly a possibility,” Khoura acknowledged with a tilt of the head. “But, if they’re too aggressive, everybody else starts looking at them and wondering things like ‘now, can we really risk having a faction this volatile around?’ and ‘wouldn’t it be _safer_ if they were removed?’ and all the other eloquent justifications for killing people and taking their stuff that make up the core of world politics. Spiders and spider webs, dear Myra, spiders and spider webs. Every action reverberates outwards.”

Myra frowned, brow creasing in thought. “So he’s… a probe?”

Khoura nodded. “Exactly. They’re testing the waters, if you’ll forgive me mixing my metaphors.”

“Always.”

“If they can prove this business with Metzin is true, then the blades will come out, and those will be some dark days for us all. If they can’t, though…” she shrugged a shoulder. “Well, he’s just one novice, and a rather dim one at that. If he sticks his elbows out too far and violates Stonelaw, well, no great loss.”

“…that’s awfully cruel, don’t you think? He’s still a person.”

“If you had seen the evidence I have, Myra, you might be more amenable to there being one less Blackguard in the world.” The younger woman folded her arms, clearly unimpressed, and after a moment, Khoura sighed, her features softening. “But, yes, you’re right. It is cruel, to be so _blase _about the loss of life. Unfortunately, sometimes that is just the way of the world.”

“…y’know, I hear that a lot, but somehow, the people saying it are never the ones who actually suffer from ‘the way of the world’.”

“I-” Dr. Khoura paused, then chuckled, shaking her head slightly. “You are right, Myra, you are absolutely right, I’m sorry. I knew I kept you around for something.”

Myra relaxed, her posture softening, and a quick smirk crept across her face. “Oh, so you’re _not _just using me for my body?”

“There can be multiple reasons.” They shared a quick smile, then Khoura dropped her hand and turned back towards the valley below. “Now, let’s get these two back to their post before they wake up, and swear them to secrecy and whatnot.”

“…you really think that will be enough? You’re not worried about the Oracle?”

Khoura scoffed, waving a hand. “These days, that imbecile couldn’t predict his own bowel movements. Besides, they gave me an operational command – they don’t get to be mad when I make operational decisions. And, as you just touched on, I’d rather not be part of an organisation that is willing to dispose of its own soldiers so casually.”

“Easy for you to say, when you’re not the one who has to carry them.”

She grinned. “Truly, Myra? I’m disappointed you believe I would make moral decisions just to avoid doing work.”

“But you _would_ make them just to have an excuse to get me all sweaty,” Myra grumbled as she bent to pick them up.

“Oh, please,” Khoura said with a wink. “I don’t need an excuse for that.”

Page composed with the free [online HTML editor](https://htmlg.com/). Please subscribe for a license to remove these messages from the edited documents.


	9. I Earn My Life

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which actions have consequences, some more immediate than others

Falling had been as fun as landing wasn’t.

The pull of the wind on her hair, the roar in her ears, the strange floatiness in her stomach – she’d always thought skydiving was insane, but for the first time she started to understand the appeal. Even the ground rushing rapidly towards her was thrilling, somehow – even as she screamed her throat raw.

Then, after what felt like an eternity and an instant simultaneously, she hit the hard concrete of the roof, and mercifully blacked out.

Zarah came to slowly, every part of her body screaming in pain, her vision blurry and out of focus. She was propped awkwardly up against something, her neck twisted in a way that didn’t feel natural or safe, one arm draped awkwardly over her head and the other splayed out in front of her, fingers still clenched tightly around the hammer. At first, she thought that it was glowing through her hand, but the patches of red were actually where the bones had torn through the skin and exposed muscle.

“Thank you for your patronage of the Kihri Is Always Right Foundation!” a familiar voice crowed. “We hope you enjoyed your reminder of our core purpose.”

Kihri’s head rose out of the ground, bearing a smug grin. “So how long is it _oh Saints _holy shit, dude! You got fucked up!”

“<Wow,>” Zarah said hoarsely, “<it’s almost like jumping out a window is a bad idea or something.>”

“Spoken like a true square. Besides, why are you complaining? You’ll heal!” She paused and made a face. “Ooh, actually, there we go! Gotta admit, seeing bones slide back into place is a new one, even for me.”

Zarah resisted the impulse to look, but she could still feel it – a powerful, bone-deep itch as muscles and nerves knitted themselves back together, just in time to let her feel the uniquely awful sensation of bones moving underneath them. She caught the bile rising in her throat just in time and squashed it down, then closed her eyes and let her head flop back down.

“Uh, Z-dog? You okay there? Don’t tell me you fainted from that, that’s not even the worst injury you’ve had _today_.”

“I am waking,” she grumbled. “No point in moving until it all heals, and I do not want to watch it.”

Kihri let out a long, drawn-out groan. “You’re so fucking boring, oh my god. You’re really gonna let a few horrifically, grisly, _unbelievably _lethal injuries get you down?”

“…you are one to talk.”

Kihri let out an ugly snort. “Fucking _okay _then! Fair point!”

“…I am sorry, that was inappopriate.”

“Fuck, come on, man! Don’t roll it back when you get a sick burn in! Relish that shit!”

“You know that not everyone enjoys being a dick hole, yes? Just you.”

Kihri was silent for a second. “…urethra,” she said, sulking.

“What?”

“…the dick hole. It’s called the urethra.”

“…”

“…shut up.”

A cacophony of sirens and flashing lights greeted them when they emerged back onto the street, having used the building’s fire stairs to circumvent the occupied areas. Emergency service vehicles were clustered around the entrance to the Aruspex building, officers and firefighters and EMTs (although the latter didn’t seem to have anything to do).

Behind a cordon, the building’s employees clustered in a confused, bored mass, most of them on their phones.

Zarah wasn’t sure why the firefighters or EMTs had been called, but surely soon they’d realise there was no actual fire or any danger, and-

There was a flash of bright light, followed instantly by a deafening _boom _and the _crack _of shattering glass. Above the entrance, all of the windows of one floor of the building had been blown outwards by an explosion, a thick cloud of smoke and dust billowing outwards.

“▓▓▓▓▓▓▓!” Zarah glanced over, and realised Kihri was yelling something, gesticulating wildly, but she couldn’t make out the words over the muffled ringing in her ears. She got the basic idea of ‘move backwards’, though, and she stepped back into the fire escape, making a ‘what?’ gesture at her sister.

Her question was answered an instant later, as tiny fragments of glass began to _plink_ down onto the concrete, faster and faster until it almost looked like rain. She could see the emergency workers beginning to panic, ducking for cover as blood began to splatter on the ground.

The shower only lasted a few seconds, but it was more than enough to thoroughly disrupt and distract the authorities, the previously-idle EMTs suddenly having to rush to the aids of the other services, and to more than a few of their own.

As it turned out, that was apparently the point. Because, out of view of the entrance but not to Zarah, a small side door opened, and the stranger stepped out, followed by their hound. Instantly, uncannily, their head snapped around, staring straight at Zarah, and slowly raised their arm, pointing two fingers at her.

They ran.

* * *

“A thought occurs,” Kihri said later, as Zarah panted, bent over double on the seat and still recovering. “I mean, I had it ages ago but you weren’t listening then.”

Initially, it had been a close thing. Zarah had immediately taken off, counting on the street full of police to slow them down, but the hound hadn’t been deterred by that in the slightest.

It was faster than her, to boot, and its constant attacks had nearly allowed the stranger to catch up, until Zarah managed to land a solid kick and send it flying away. And from there, it was no contest. They might have had magic, but no-one knew how to disappear in a city better than a street rat.

After a few extra minutes of ducking through alleys and shopfronts, to make sure they were clear, they’d finally stopped at train station, and, after checking that a particular security camera was still broken, had slipped inside a stall in the bathrooms to recover.

“<In my defense,>” Zarah said hoarsely, “<I was a little busy.>”

“Excuses, excuses. Seriously, though, I’m wondering something. That pissy little hornet presumably had those explosives on them the entire time, right? And they didn’t use them, or even try to?”

“…right.”

“So either they forgot about it – which, no – or… they knew it wouldn’t be effective.”

It took a second for the words to sink in. “Are you saying…”

“I mean,” Kihri shrugged, “nothing’s killed you yet? Maybe that’s indicative of something.”

“That is not- That cannot-” She found herself tightening her grip, knuckles white. “That is ridiculous. This thing, it would- we would know about it! Everyone would know about it!”

“Okay,” Kihri acknowledged, “maybe, like, ‘immortal’ is a stretch, but one: literally every part of this is a stretch, and two: there’s apparently a whole _bunch _of shit that we don’t know about, that _nobody _knows about, nobody here anyway.” She paused, mouth hanging slightly open as she thought. “Actually, maybe that’s something. The tentacle guy, he had an accent, right?”

“I… think yes?”

“Right, and I’d put good money on the pintsize back there being a Suncoaster of some kind. So out of the three people we know are involved in this freaky woo-woo, two of them aren’t from here, and ‘Metzin’ sounds like a Gaithien name to me. So maybe there’s some kind of… blockade? Censorship or suppression or whatever, keeping knowledge of – actually, you know what, fuck it, I’m just gonna say it – _magic_, hidden from Ostra.”

Zarah dragged a hand down her face. “Can you listen to yourself? You sound like a paranoid.”

“Yeah, and I’d _also _sound paranoid if I tried to explain literally anything else from the last two days. Who would believe _you, _if you tried to tell people about your dead sister who talks to you? Doesn’t mean I’m wrong.”

Zarah hated to admit it, but she wasn’t. “…the Kihri Is Always Right Foundation?” she asked instead.

“Established in 1022, for the express purpose of ensuring that the world would always know not to fucking step to me.”

“<March seventh, 1022, Kihri Vyas is born, and the world became just a little bit sadder.>”

“Oh fuck you,” Kihri replied, and Zarah flinched even though she knew it was joking. It had always been like that, even before Kihri had started insisting they speak this stupid, clumsy language, before…

Just _before_. Kihri had always been… not charming, exactly, the tendency to insult and belittle wasn’t new. But she’d always known how to make it not sting, to make people laugh when she called them names instead of making them angry. Zarah had the reverse talent, she’d supposed – she’d always had a knack for making people angry without saying anything offensive, and then when the tables had turned, the insults and jabs felt like hot needles under her skin that built and built until she couldn’t bear it anymore, and then Kihri would end up using that same talent to prevent it from ending in blows. Or, more often, to smooth things over after it already had.

“Hey, space cadet.” Zarah started, and realised she’d drifted off in thought. Kihri was perched over her, imitating the way she had both her legs off the ground and feet pressed against the door, except Kihri wasn’t sitting on anything, and her feet pressed against empty air. “You okay?

She nodded, not really feeling up to speech.

“Oh, good, I was worried I was gonna spend the rest of my unlife watching you daydream in a public shitter. Unless you have other plans, hint hint please leave the bathroom.”

_Where now? _Zarah had been avoiding thinking about, mostly because she was worried if she did she’d hit a dead end.

But, while she was still marshalling her thoughts, Kihri spoke again.

“…okay, that was a bit of a… creative mis-truth,” she said slowly. Almost… embarrassed? “I know what to do next, but I need you to-”

“Where?” Zarah hadn’t even realised she was speaking until the word was out, and then she was already on her feet, wrapping the hammer back up in the stained and torn shirt.

Kihri blinked, and for the brief moment before she settled back into her default calm smugness, a flash of a smile flickered across her face. “Why, my young pupil, we are going… to the library!”

“Okay,” Zarah said, flushing the toilet even though she hadn’t used it. “Why?”

“Oh come on- …wait, what did you say?”

“Okay,” she repeated. “Lead me.”

“You’re not going to… protest, or complain, or something?”

She shot her sister a confused glance. “No. Why would I?”

“…no reason.”

As it turned out, there was a very good reason.

Zarah had been distracted, keeping an eye out for the stranger, and so even though she would have ordinarily recognised the route, she hadn’t cottoned on until they rounded the corner and the building itself came into view.

She stopped dead in the middle of the sidewalk, cutting off Kihri’s idle chatter, and immediately turned and began walking in the opposite direction.

“Oh, come on!” her twin protested, swooping down to intercept her. “I thought you were cool!”

“That was before,” Zarah snapped back, “I knew you were meaning _this _library.”

“Wait, what? What other library would I be talking about?”

“There are _many _libraries!”

“That we visit? Like, ever?”

“We… we are doing that sometimes,” Zarah protested weakly.

“Oh yeah? Name one time.”

“…”

“That’s what I thought.” Kihri sighed, folding her arms. “Look, Z, I’m sorry, but you knew we were gonna have to come back here at some point.”

“Not while it is _opening!_”

“We were gonna have to try and do some research eventually, so yes while it’s open. Have your gay crisis another time, suck it up, and let’s go already. I need to use the good computer before Horny Greg gets in at 11.”

“That is _not _a real person.”

Kihri shuddered, a ripple running through her form like a stone dropped in a pond. “Saints, I wish. Trust me, you do _not _want to be proven wrong on this one. And don’t even get me _started _on Toenail Ronald.” Some of her exaggerated disgust dropped away. “Seriously, dude, this is important. Maybe. If it’s important it’s very important but I don’t know if it’s important yet but do you want to take the risk?”

It was Zarah’s turn to sigh. “Maybe she is not working today.”

She should have known better than to say it out loud.

Sure enough, the instant they walked in the door, the girl at the checkout desk turned to glance over, then broke out in a broad smile.

“Hey!” Esti exclaimed as she stood up, quickly tucking her chair underneath the desk and coming around to the front. “Haven’t seen you in a while, huh?”

Zarah nodded, suddenly paying a great deal of attention to the tips of her sneakers and the pattern of the machined rubber there.

“Oh, saints and stars,” Kihri groaned. “You _useless _fucking lesbian.”

The first time Zarah had ended up at the Station Lane Public Library, she’d been sixteen, and had just escaped her final foster home, though at the time she didn’t know that. She’d been there for almost a year, though, and while she hadn’t realised it until it was too late, having a roof over her head had robbed her of some of her edge. She’d nearly died that winter, another body preserved in a snow-drift with seasonally-inappropriate clothing and a bag filled to bursting with all of her life’s possessions. Nearly – except for Kihri, who would managed to navigate her to the nearest piece of public property, Station Lane, and for a volunteer library assistant named Estifania Adeline deSouza.

She’d been scraping off the outside steps when Zarah had staggered up, rhythmically running a metal pick along the concrete. The sound was still burned into Zarah’s head – it had been her lifeline in the last stretch, a tangible goal she could use to force herself to keep moving.

Of course, even when not panicking, she wasn’t exactly prone to wearing her heart on her sleeve, and so the moment had passed without remark or notice from Estifania. Not from Kihri, of course, but when did it ever? Her… saviour, she supposed, had continued to chatter on, and occasionally Zarah found herself contributing without entirely having meant to, skirting out the edges of her life in as close to open honesty as she was able to. And, to her surprise, the other girl didn’t express shock or pity, just sitting and listening, occasionally commenting but never treating her like she was damaged or fragile or skittish.

Zarah hadn’t fully realised how much that meant to her, until it was a few months later and she realised that she’d been visiting Station Lane at least once a week, and usually more, just to talk with Esti, as she told Zarah to call her. Or, to be talked at, mostly – her usual reticence returned quickly, but her new friend was more than happy to make up the deficit, talking at length about books she was reading, her studies and career hopes, or merely just the weather. It reminded Zarah of Kihri, but she found that it was endearing, rather than annoying as her sister so often was.

But in the last few months- no, she realised, longer than that. In more than half a year, she had only visited outside opening hours, to pick up or drop off her bags from the tool shed out back that Esti had given her the code to. She didn’t even have a good reason – well, she did at first, but then that was resolved, and she could’ve visited again, but then she’d have to explain why she hadn’t, and every time she delayed it just got harder and more pointless and became a bigger and bigger deal, and now…

“…sorry,” she said instead of trying to explain, cringing internally at how croaky and weak her voice came out. “There was been… some things.”

Esti bit her lip, but nodded. She was a little shorter than Zarah, about as dark-skinned but considerably ruddier, warm and sunny where she was cool and greyish, and was dressed in a simple skirt and sweater, a namebadge pinned to one side and a lanyard hanging from her neck. 

Her glossy black hair was bound into a simple braid and draped over one shoulder, but unlike the last time Zarah had seen her, the sides of her head were shaved, and a bleach-blonde fringe fell down across her forehead. A pair of rectangular glasses, thick and black-rimmed, sat on a small button nose, and the wide hazel eyes behind them had thin clusters of wrinkles at the edges. That, combined with the attire, would have made her appear much older than she was – and had in the past, but the new hairstyle gave her a new spot of youthfulness, without sacrificing her… _maturity_.

_Okay, Zarah, maybe don’t stand wandering down that path right now, yeah? _Sometimes, she worried about how much her internal critic sounded like Kihri. “Have you-” she coughed, clearing her throat. “Have you been okay?”

Esti smiled, and Zarah immediately found a renewed interest in the pattern of the carpet. “Oh, I’ve been fine. Well, okay. Well, I’ve been getting by. You know how it is.”

She didn’t, but nodded anyway. “I- _I’m _glad.”

“Oh,” Kihri muttered, “_now _you care about your grammar.”

Zarah shot her an annoyed glance, realising a moment too late that Esti would have no idea what she was reacting too. She whipped her head back around, schooling her features, but to her relief, the other girl was looking back over her shoulder at the checkout desk.

“Listen,” she said, “I’m really sorry, but I have to work right now – we’re doing some inventory stuff. I’ll be getting off in about an hour, though, if you want to wait around?”

Zarah shook her head. “I needing to use a computer, and-” she jerked her head towards the back of the building where the shed was. “Just… wanted to see you.”

She froze, her brain processing the words she’d just said, which she would _really _appreciate it doing _before _she spoke. “I- I just wanted to say hello, I mean.”

“Oh. Oh, of course, right, yes.” For a second, it looked like she was blushing, but it was probably just Zarah’s imagination. “It’s good to see you too. I should probably-” she glanced back at the counter.

“Oh- yes. Of course.” _She’ll think you’re copying her, idiot. _“I mean- yes. Bye.”

“Bye,” she replied, but Zarah had already turned around, stalking towards the computers in the corner of the library.

“<Stupid, stupid, stupid, stupid,>” she muttered to herself as she walked. “<Moron. Six months and this is how you act? No wonder she->”

“Hate to cut off the monologue, Hamlet, but you’re getting stares.” Kihri’s words were light as ever, but there was an undercurrent of bitterness that caught Zarah off-guard. Had she really been that pathetic?

“Sorry,” she murmured, sitting down at the computer in the corner, the only one that didn’t have a path behind it. “What are we do?”

“Okay, open up a map site, one with manual coordinate entry, then punch in…” She trailed off, then began rattling off a sequence of numbers, faster than Zarah could keep up. “Okay,” she repeated once she’d hit the end. “Sorry, just needed to check that. Latitude first,” and she rattled off the same string of numbers, but slower, and stopped about halfway through. Zarah wasn’t the most experienced typist, but she managed to keep up. “And then longitude,” and she gave the other half of the numbers.

“Where did you get those?” Zarah asked as she pressed enter, and watched the slow public internet begin to chug through loading the results.

“Inside the filing cabinet back at the office, bottom drawer. There was a book called… ‘R-F2 and You: Advanced Database Management Optimisation’ that had been hollowed out and these were on a notepad inside.”

“…and you just knowing it was coordinates?”

“I guessed based on the number of digits, okay? And, besides, we don’t know that they are-” she broke off, glancing at the screen. “Yeah, I guess they aren’t!”

The map program had loaded the coordinates, and was now showing a completely random spot in the middle of the Vedian Sea.

“Well,” Kihri sighed, “this is why I didn’t want to get your hopes up.”

“Maybe they go other way around?”

“Yeah, you know what? Try it, why not. That’d make about as much sense as literally everything else that’s been happening.” Dutifully, Zarah copied one set over to the other field, and let Kihri recite the other again, then pressed enter and waited once more.

“…Zarah?” Kihri asked after a moment. “Do you…” she paused, then let out an angry growl. “Never mind. Never mind. It’s nothing.”

“It… sounds like something.”

“Not important, then. Saints, can’t you just- oh, you’re fucking kidding me.”

Startled, Zarah glanced back at the screen, to find that it was now displaying-

“You,” Kihri repeated flatly, “are fucking kidding me.”

The map was now displaying, in grainy , birds-eye satellite footage, a location in the middle of a field, about half an hour outside of Kaila.

“I cannot _believe _this. Who the fuck writes longitude first? This woman really is a monster.”

“At least you were right about coordinates?”

She immediately perked back up. “Oh, hey, yeah! I almost forgot that I rule! That was a close one.” Zarah made a face at her, and she blew a raspberry back. “Okay, so if you open up the bus timetables…”

* * *

It was almost dark by the time Zarah stepped outside, waiting until Esti had stepped away to slip past. Kihri had hung back, insisting that she had a ‘moral obligation’ to look over the shoulder of the mythological Horny Greg, so Zarah was alone as she trudged around to the toolshed.

It wasn’t much, just a wooden door built into the side of the library, but the hinges were solid and clean, and the padlock was reassuringly thick and complicated. It had taken Zarah a few weeks initially to remember the code, but now it was second nature, back and forth until it clicked open.

Inside was equally boring – a rake, a broom, a few smaller tools and cans of paint and whatnot, except for the large black duffel bag in the corner. Esti said she’d told her co-workers (she’d transitioned from volunteer to actual employee about a year ago) that it was her gym bag, and had put a pair of sneakers next to it to sell the story. In reality, though, it was… maybe the oldest thing Zarah still owned, she realised. She’d stolen it from the Brocktons, her second foster family, when she was 10, and it had been with her ever since.

She’d patched up holes and resecured the straps whenever she had access to a sewing kit, and so eight years later it was still rugged and reliable.

She didn’t mind not having to lug it around anymore, though. Hypothetically, a few of the shelters had lockers, but she’d had too many things stolen to trust those, and it was reassuring, knowing that she didn’t only have the clothes on her back. Of course, that didn’t mean she was _stupid _– there were photocopies of her documents stored at multiple different locations around the city, and the originals somewhere else entirely. Not that she had to interact with the system much anymore, but cautious was better than dead.

Thus, the shed. She’d ducked in after close to change her clothes and secure a few things before heading out to the Milton Steelworks, where they’d found Hami, and everything since then had been so frantic…

With a start, she realised it had only been a little over a day, and that thought filled her with a bone-deep weariness. Not physically – she still felt like she could run a marathon thanks to the hammer – but mentally and spiritually. Had she even said prayers that morning? She definitely hadn’t at lunch.

She’d… she’d deal with this later. She picked up her bag and began rifling through it, more forcefully than it needed to be, as if the impacts could shake out the thoughts in her brain. Or the pangs out of her stomach, actually. She hadn’t eaten since Market Square, and even though the thought of food made her nauseous, her insides refused to play along. There were still a few of the granola bars she’d stolen out of dumpster a while back, so she took one out and start gnawing, the taste bland and mealy in her mouth. She didn’t know what idiot had thrown them out – bars, and this brand in particular, _never _went off, no matter what the label said. Or maybe the quality meant she just couldn’t tell the difference.

Still chewing, her makeshift meal held between her teeth, she sat down on the cold concrete and began moving things between the two bags.

A laundered, but weather-inappropriate, set went back in the duffel, while a shirt, bra and underwear basically identical to the ones she was already wearing went into the backpack, to change into after she could shower. Reluctantly, she also moved across her pair of good cargo pants – the ones she was wearing currently had too many holes in them from the day’s events to be salvageable, and that wasn’t even considering all the blood.

She almost laughed as she processed the words she’d just thought. _What a ridiculous sentence. What a ridiculous… _everything_. _Did she have to make clothing decisions based on how well they’d handle bloodstains now? Were her fashion choices to be based on resistance to knives, her choice of shoe on how well they would break bone?

A violent shake of the head managed to drag her away from that spiral, and she resumed moving her clothes. She was thinking too far ahead again. One day at at time, one day to survive and move forward, and at the end of that day the one after, and so on until…

Well, just until. Trying to plan that out would be falling into the same trap she’d just avoided, after all.

Kihri reappeared just as she was finishing up, her face twisted into an almost cartoonish expression of disgust. “Don’t ask,” she said, in response to the unasked question. “Seriously. Just… don’t.”

“<Sow the nightshade,>” Zarah started dryly.

Kihri flipped her off instead of finishing the saying. “You can reap my ass for all I care. This shit’s gonna haunt me.”

Zarah raised an eyebrow.

“Hey, no! No ghost jokes! Only I get to do ghost jokes!”

With the closest approximation of a chuckle she could manage, Zarah stood, slinging her bag back over her shoulders. “I understand. It is of gravely importance.”

“I’m gonna kill you, you know that? Then you’ll see how it feels.”

* * *

The figure sitting on the library’s roof watched Zarah as she locked up the shed and began walking away down the street. They sat near the top of the steepled tiles, their suit jacket laid out next to them, red tie hanging loose below an open top button.

In one hand, they held a lit cigarette that they took idle puffs from, and the other was at their side, rhythmically stroking a seemingly-empty patch of air.

If one were particularly attentive, or had the foreknowledge of what to listen for, they might have heard a thin keening noise, plaintive and desperate.

“Yeah,” the stranger said, “I see it too, girl.” Then, quieter, to themself: “Because more complications is exactly what this whole mess needed.”

They sighed, leant back, and watched the smoke curl up into the night sky.


	10. Them Changes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which things left buried are uncovered and familiar faces make a reappearance

Hafton was a small town, tucked into a natural ingress in the side of the large valley that contained the entirety of the nation of Ostra. Presumably, it had existed for longer than that name – what was now a simple tiered construction was immediately recognisable to Zarah as having formerly been rice farms. The sight brought a pang to her chest, and a rush of sense memories and impressions that she’d long forgotten, but she quickly pressed them back down – they were in public, after all.

“Aquifer,” Kihri said from beside her. She was floating outside the bus, next to Zarah’s window seat, so to anyone observing she would seem to just be looking at the countryside, the occasional murmurs just lyrics from the song presumably playing through her headphones.

“No. What is that?”

“An aquifer? Dunno, I’m just running out of ‘a’ words. Arsenic.”

“Arsenic?”

“There was an apple tree back there, and there’s arsenic in apple seeds, right? Or, wait, was it cyanide?”

“No, not arsenic. Or cyanide.”

“Pretty sure it’s cyanide, yeah. Ass?”

“<The heavens have turned to dust!> Yes, ‘ass’.”

“…I cannot believe you made me guess for an hour just to come up with some stupid joke.”

“Joke? There was an ass on the side of the road. With the man with the… the…” she searched for the word, gesturing the shape around her head. “_Khamauk?_”

“Rice hat?”

“Yes! Rice hat! That man, he had an ass.”

“So much for being a lesbian, huh?”

“Wh- no!” She held up her hands on either side of her head, imitating ears. “Ass! With the… _ee-hough!_”

Kihri stared at her for a second, then burst out laughing. “A fucking _donkey?!” _she gasped. “That’s what you meant?!”

“Called an ass, no?”

“Sure, if you’re a peasant from the sixth century! No-one calls them that! No wonder I couldn’t guess it!”

“Or maybe you are just not good at this game.”

The bus jolted as it began to slow, brakes squealing. “I’m the _best_ at this game,” Kihri muttered indignantly.

Zarah exited with a small nod to the driver, stepping down to the pavement and looking around. The stop was on the edge of Hafton, presumably because the bus wouldn’t fare well on the narrow streets, and consisted only of a small post and an uncovered bench. Zarah took a seat on it as the remaining few passengers and the driver exited, stretching her legs as she waited for them to move towards the town.

“Which is the way?” she asked Kihri once they were out of earshot.

“Uh,” she glanced around quickly, “good question. I am now realising that satellite footage is maybe not the best way to get directions from a more… grounded perspective, yuk yuk yuk.”

“Go up, then.”

“_Pardoń_?”

Zarah pointed. “Fly up, see from above. Like the maps.”

“Oh, right. Duh.” She almost seemed… reluctant? _No, I’m probably just imagining it._

Kihri quickly floated upwards, and Zarah had to squint to track her against the bright sunlight. Quite quickly, though, she stopped, only about 3 stories up.

“OKAY!” she yelled, no quieter than if she hadn’t moved at all, “I THINK I-” She paused, noticing Zarah’s immediate, frantic waving, and floated back down. “What? What’s wrong?”

“Not yell!” Zarah hissed at her. “I still hear you fine from up there.”

“Oh, right. Sorry, again.” Something was definitely up. “Also, I just realised you can’t really reply without attracting attention so I’ll just give you directions, okay?”

“Can you fly higher? That was closer than I expect.”

“Er, no. Don’t want to leave you alone down here, yeah?”

Before Zarah could retort that she could take care of herself just fine, she’d already floated back up again, and, after a moment of orientation, began directing her towards the coordinates they’d found.

The notch that Hafton sat in was the biggest one along this side of the valley, but not the only one – gaps stretched out past it, getting progressively smaller until they were impossible to distinguish from the natural unevenness of the mountain’s base. Quite quickly, Kihri realised they were headed for one of the latter, but managed to convince Zarah to follow the path around past the town instead of cutting straight across to the other side, primarily by pointing out that it was actually a paddy and she’d get extremely wet.

They saw very few people as they walked by Hafton, and none paid them any mind, but it was still a surprisingly uncomfortable experience for Zarah. Her brain couldn’t seem to reconcile the sight of brick-and-thatch cottages and cobblestone streets with the terraces, and looking at it evoked a powerful swell of emotions she couldn’t identify.

Like most of her problems, of course, she handled it by looking away until it was out of sight.

Once they’d passed properly out of earshot, and out of sight beyond vague shapes, she began to relax again, and pulled out the hammer, idly swinging it around and watching the way the light refracted off and through it.

Sleep had eluded her last night, and so after a few fruitless hours of tossing and turning, she’d tucked herself away in a bathroom stall for some privacy and began sewing. Using the remains of her ruined clothing, cleaned but beyond repair, she’d fashioned a makeshift carry for the hammer, covering it up and letting her sling it over her torso so it sat against her back. It was nice to do something productive for a change – so nice, in fact, that it took her almost an hour to realise she’d let go of the hammer without being crippled by pain.

It was still there, once she realised – dull aches that disappeared when she picked it up again. It was a relief to know that it did fade after all, though; Kihri theorised that it was just all the pain she would have experienced while holding it, condensed and delayed.

Knowing that, and knowing she didn’t have to be in constant contact with the hammer, made it much easier to disguise, too. After some consideration, and some tests of whether it counted as blocking the contact (it didn’t), she’d also wrapped the handle in a layer of tape, then cut grooves into it with her knife. Once she was done, it could easily be mistaken for the handle of a cricket bat, if you weren’t looking closely. Slung over her torso, with the backpack covering most of it, it hadn’t even warranted a second glance so far.

Of course, out of the sling, the disguise fell apart somewhat, but by the time that happened, Zarah reasoned, the point had probably already become moot.

“Geez,” Kihri mocked from above, “somebody’s compensating for something.”

“That is your area, not mine,” Zarah retorted dryly, gaining a sharp laugh.

“Yep, I’ll cop that one. Seriously, though, you just swinging that thing around randomly? Even if there’s no-one around, doesn’t seem smart.”

“…I suppose.” She swung it through another loop, then a figure-eight in front of her, enjoying the pleasant weight. “I just…”

Belatedly, she realised her steps had gotten lighter, her movements more controlled, and as she looked down, the blacklight had begun to surround her form, faint in the sunlight.

“This,” she said slowly, “shouldn’t be possible, yes?”

“Hm?”

“This?” She realised Kihri probably couldn’t see the light from above. “The blacklight?”

“Again, I feel like you’re maybe getting too hung up on ‘possible’, but yeah, you’re not wrong. ‘Black’ doesn’t really exist – it’s just an absence of light, which is white by default, and colours are just smaller sections of that light based on the refraction of- you don’t care about any of this, actually. The point is, having black light would be like having… dry water, or cold fire.

It’s a contradiction in terms, basically. An oxymoron.”

“And yet…”

“And yet,” she echoed. “Look, man, I don’t fucking know. It is what it is! If I were you, and I almost am, I’d be spending more time trying to figure out the practical realities of it than the mechanical underpinnings, so to speak.”

“I…” Zarah shook her head. “You lose me.”

“Ugh, fine. This is a purely one-time thing, you understand? <Functionally speaking, it doesn’t actually matter how it is happening or if it’s ‘technically possible’ or whatever, because the _reality _is that it is happening, and considering how the past few days have been going, figuring out the exact, _practical_ limits and boundaries is gonna be a lot more useful than trying to prove it from first principles, you grok?>”

“‘<Who cares how it works, so long as it does?>’”

“<Eh, more like ‘who cares how it works so long as you know _when _it works’.> We’re gonna have to go off-path up ahead,” she added, switching back to Brecht. “Easy mode is over, linguistically and physically.”

“What do you suggest, then?”

“Well, ideally we’d sit down and do a bunch of boring tests with controls and whatnot, but I’m realistic enough to know that ain’t happening. How about… hm. Okay, stop for a second.”

She did so, her stance slightly awkward due to the incline.

“Alright, now, close your eyes.”

“…really?”

“Just work with me here, okay? Close your eyes.”

Reluctantly, Zarah closed her eyes. “Good news,” she said after a moment. “I still cannot see like this.”

“Har de har, smartass. Can you feel anything? Anything unusual, I mean.”

“I… no. No, I think not. Not sure how to tell.”

“Yeah, I figured. Okay, now put the hammer down, and see if you notice anything.”

She crouched and laid it gently out on the ground, before slowly removing her hand. As soon as her last finger came away, the effect became obvious – her limbs felt heavier, faint aches that hadn’t quite healed all the way beginning to throb once more. Barely noticeable in the normal course of things, but the contrast made them more obvious.

She reported her findings to Kihri, who gave a little contented hum. “That’s our control, then. Do it again, and this time, filter out all the stuff you already noticed, try and feel anything that’s… _more._”

“Kihri, this is stupid. Are you just guessing that-”

“Zarah! Will you please just shut up and do the fucking experiment, please?!”

Zarah sighed, then sat cross-legged on the ground and closed her eyes, reaching out for the hammer with both hands.

As usual, the contact brought a wave of vitality, energy and alertness, her aches and pains smoothed away and her thoughts clearer and sharper. But… also, maybe something else? _No, Kihri has just primed you to expect it. You’re imagining it._

When she set it down again, though, she felt that same sensation – or, no, not even that, but the sensation of a sensation, the knowledge of something’s existence without any actual knowledge of it.

“Do you-” Kihri started to say.

“_Hst!_” Zarah cut her off, trying to focus. Down, up, down, up, over and over again until she could be sure she wasn’t imagining it, then, to try and get a better feel for it. It wasn’t… it didn’t seem to map to anything she’d ever experienced, incomparable in the literal sense. Whether in a flash of insight or something more mystical, she realised that the blacklight was the same – not actual black, but the human brain’s attempt to comprehend something that it had no point of reference for, by grasping for the closest thing it could find.

With that realisation, or maybe just coincidentally, the sensation seemed to… resolve, almost, come into focus. It was almost like… burning? Or, no, the _idea _of burning, of setting alight, not the physical sensation. Something else, too, something more physical, and although it didn’t quite fit, the image that came to mind was a finger snapping, and a spark leaping off it.

Still holding the hammer, she opened her eyes, clicked her fingers, and the blacklight disappeared from around her.

Slowly, she looked up at Kihri, who was trying and failing to contain her excitement under a layer of smugness. “Told you.”

Zarah snapped again, and the light (along with the effects) returned. The change was instantaneous, almost like flicking a switch.

“You did,” she acknowledged. “Thank you.”

Kihri gave an over-dramatic groan. “Do you _always _have to ruin a perfectly good opportunity for banter with sincerity and feelings and shit? It’s very annoying.”

“_Someone _must,” she grunted as she stood.

“Yeah, but that ‘someone’ doesn’t have to be the only person in the world I can communicate with.”

For the rest of the walk, Zarah practiced their new discovery, snapping every few seconds more out of awe than practicality (especially because it made her nearly trip almost every time). More than the usefulness, though, it was the first time in the entire affair that she actually had some _control _over anything. The hammer gave her power, true, but it was borrowed – stolen, really – and unknown. It still wasn’t truly hers, but at least now she had a leash on it, a firmer grip.

“…worth a shot, yeah?” Belatedly, she realised Kihri had been talking to her, and was now waiting for a response.

“<Can-> …repeat, please?”

“Sure thing, space cadet. I was saying that the other two… actually, you know, we should probably figure out what to call ‘people who can do this shit’. I mean, unless we want to keep calling them that, which, no. Maybe… luminoir? Like luminous plus noir? Lucents? Uh, light-wielders-”

“_Akhnesh,” _Zarah muttered. She hadn’t intended to speak at all, but her mouth had gotten away from her.

“…I mean, I _guess_, but it’s kind of a mouthful, huh?”

_Akhnesh _were beings from mythology, as they’d learned it when they were children. Personifications of change – life and growth, but also death and decay. There was a certain poeticism to that, she admitted, but it felt… disrespectful, somehow. Instead, unbidden, the image of the hand, the pressure and the spark floated back up.

“Burner.”

“…_burner_,” Kihri repeated slowly, rolling the word around in her mouth. “Damn, I actually like that. Burners, yeah. Nice one, dude. Okay, what was I… right, yeah. The other two burners we’ve seen have actually been able to actually, y’know, _make _ghostlight, instead of just getting the power-up from it.”

“‘Ghostlight’?”

“Yeah, I just thought of it – dope, right? Actually, though, _did _they get the power-up?”

Zarah thought about it. “The… suit one, I think not. Or, maybe? They were very quick. The other… not sure. His… the…” she waved her arms about vaguely. “<What’s the word for octopus limbs?>”

“Tendrils or tentacles.“

“His _tendrils_, they were doing most of work.”

“Mm.” Kihri glanced down at the hammer. “Either way, my point is that you should – hypothetically – be able to do the same, right?”

“‘Hypothetically’?”

“<In theory.> Seriously, though, worth a shot, right?”

“I… I think you are leaping to conclusions, maybe.”

“Maybe,” she acknowledged with a shrug, “but it can’t hurt to try, right?”

“I… am fairly certain it _can_, yes.”

“Well,” she grinned, “good thing you can heal then, right?”

“If I messing around with the thing that is making me heal, then maybe not!”

“Oh, that’s actually… a fairly good point.”

“No need for surprise,” Zarah murmured testily.

“How about this, then. The little fucker, if they _were _getting amped up, wasn’t touching any light, so how about you try holding the effect after letting go?”

That sounded a little bit more plausible (and safer) to Zarah, so she tucked the hammer back into its sling, letting her fingers linger on the handle for a moment as she focused in on the _snap_. Once she was sure she had it, she envisioned holding onto it, the moment of pressure and heat, of _ignition_, continuing without ever reaching that point of connection or impact, and drew her hand away.

The sensation immediately dimmed, the blacklight growing fainter, but for a few seconds, she kept it from winking out entirely, focusing on her breathing and her focus. Then, she slipped, and it was gone.

“That looked like something,” Kihri commented as she rose to her feet.

“It was. Is. Hard, but possible. I will… practice. Eventually.”

“Good plan, yeah. Maybe avoid trying to use it til you’re more comfortable, too. So you don’t lose focus just cause you got… disemboweled, or something.”

“Just?”

“Honestly? Yeah, ‘just’. Do I need to remind you that you had a fucking hole in your torso yesterday?”

“You did not, actually.”

“Well, too bad, Hole-y Roller, suck it up.”

The conversation, inasmuch as it could be called that, continued in that vein for the rest of their walk, as they descended further down towards the bottom of the notch, passing through thick brush before emerging into a small field.

Kihri held up a hand as they reached the centre. “Okay, this should be it.”

“Here?” Zarah asked, glancing around. It was… a field, and only barely. ‘Clearing’ was probably a better word, uneven grass and scrub, nothing that suggested it was anything other than natural.

“Hey, I don’t pick the tune, I just conduct. Bu-ut, I suspect…” Effortlessly, she flipped around in the air, head down and feet up, then lowered herself down through the ground up to her shoulders. “Yep!” she said a moment later, voice eerily clear despite the obstruction. “There’s something down here, for sure.”

“How?” There was no disturbed dirt, no patch of grass that was fresher than the others, no sign that anything had been dug up or buried.

“The… usual way, one presumes?” Zarah explained what she meant, and Kihri popped back up to investigate. “Oh-kay, yeah, I see what you mean. Interesting, very interesting. Either it has been here for a while, or…”

“Teleportation?”

“Oh shit, that’s so much better than my thing. But no, I was thinking more along the lines of… this!” She stopped directly above a patch of dirt, about two feet away from where the object was buried, and waved Zarah over.

It took her a second to see it, and if she hadn’t gotten right up close, she doubted she would’ve been able to at all. There was an extremely faint line in the dirt, with a slight curve to it, and although the ground on either side clearly had lined up at some point, they were now offset by a few inches in one direction. Following the line revealed that the curve was one section of a complete circle, although it was obscured by fresher growth in places. Ten paces across, with the buried item in the dead centre.

“How?” Zarah repeated. “This is… did she lift out entire disc, put something in hole, then lower it back?”

“Looks that way,” Kihri confirmed, then waggled her eyebrows. “We, however, have no such luxury.”

“We?” Zarah grumbled as she shrugged off her bag. “What are you doing?”

“Offering moral support and entertainment – for myself, that is. I could sing you a song, if you like?”

Zarah hefted the hammer, and got to work. “No, thank you.”

“Perfect! Ahem-hem. _Tumble out of bed and stumble to the kitchen, pour myself a cup of ambition, yawn and stretch and try to come to life!”_

Kihri could actually be quite a good singer, when she tried.

Which, currently, she was not.

* * *

“…_hammer ring, Lord, Lord, you can hear John-” _

The dull thud of the hammer cut through her voice, and jarred Zarah out of the rhythm she’d fallen into.

“Jackpot!” Kihri crowed. “I knew you could do it. Well, I knew you could either do it or spend like an hour scrabbling fruitlessly in the dirt, so I won either way.”

Scrabbling was the right word. The hammer had broken up the dirt easily, but didn’t actually help with shovelling it out, so Zarah had been forced to alternate back and forth – break up the dirt, scoop it out with her hands, rinse, repeat. Or just repeat – a rinse would’ve made it a lot more pleasant.

As she brushed the dirt away, a heavy metal box revealed itself, with only a slight dent in the top from where she’d hit it. It was about the size of an engine block, sturdily constructed with the welds still showing, but utterly unremarkable otherwise, a thick combination lock holding it closed.

Whether it was the construction or the contents, it turned out to be damnably heavy; enough so that Zarah had to pick the hammer back up before she could haul it out onto the surface. Then, seeing as she already had it on hand, she swung the hammer down at the lock.

“No! Don’t-” Kihri began to yell, but the blow had already connected. There was an ugly _screech _of breaking metal, and the pieces of the lock went flying, bouncing a surprising distance before coming to a stop.

“Do not what?” Zarah asked, raising an eyebrow at Kihri, who was just poking her head up out of the ground.

“You idiot,” her sister snapped. “That could’ve been trapped!”

“It was not.”

“But it _could’ve _been,” she insisted. “Seriously, Z, _you _were just pointing out to _me_ that we can’t trust these powers, and now you’re acting like you’re invincible?”

“Do you want to wasting time arguing about this,” Zarah snapped, “or open the box?”

“Oh, _great _deflection. Real subtle.” Still, she floated closer. “Get on with it, then.”

The first thing Zarah noticed, as soon as she cracked the lid, before she could even see inside, was the smell. It had the same notes of sickly sweetness and dull iron as the power station, but milder, more contained. More natural, almost – as if it wasn’t the product of rot and decay but merely how it was supposed to smell. That, and the subtle but un-mistakeable scent of orange blossom water laced through it.

“Oh saints and stones,” Kihri murmured as she lifted the lid.

It was the closest Zarah had ever come to echoing her.

Inside the box was a smaller lockbox, a miniature filing box with colour codes and labels in neat handwriting, and a small stack of ring-bound notebooks.

There was also a severed human arm.

It looked the right size to belong to an adult, and had been severed just below the shoulder in a clean, smooth cut. The fingers were relaxed, hanging loosely, and a simple silver band adorned the smallest, and the entire thing was _remarkably _well-preserved – in fact, it didn’t seem to have… decayed…

_Oh. Oh, that’s not a human arm, is it?_

What she’d mistaken for a dark, earthy skin tone was in fact red ghostlight, but… darker, somehow, and opaque instead of the glassy translucence the material normally had. Was it just the lighting, or…

“Ah ah ah!” Kihri’s voice cut through her thoughts, and she whipped her hand back just before touching it. “How about we _don’t _make a habit of ‘poke the dismembered limb’, yeah?”

“I… sorry. I just want to test if it is… arm-like? Fleshy. It looks fleshy.”

“…it’s a _severed human arm_, Zarah! Reevaluate your priorities!”

“Is it?” she asked distractedly, reaching for it again. She held herself back from actually touching it, and instead pointed to the severed end. The ghostlight there was more visible, and closer to the standard ‘red glass’ appearance. “Look, here.”

“…what the fuck,” Kihri breathed after a second. “Why is it all… dark?”

“Dried blood on inside?” Zarah suggested idly, running a finger along the surface. Like she’d thought, it wasn’t the cool, textureless solid of the hammer, but a softer, more malleable surface. Like she’d thought, almost fleshy.

“Hey!” Kihri snapped. “What did I _just _say?”

Zarah met her gaze, then slowly and deliberately pushed the finger down, dimpling the surface. “Whoops.”

“Someday,” Kihri said flatly, “you’re going to contract a horrific disease, and I’ll be there saying ‘I told you so’.”

“But until then…?”

“…_fine, _pick up the fucking ghost arm, god.”

“Thank you,” Zarah said primly, and did so.

It was… cold, which made sense, but for some reason she’d been expecting it to be warm, like a living arm. But, no, it was cool – cooler, actually, than ghostlight normally was, cool like the soft earth they’d dug through to get to it. Flexible, too – it bent and sagged as she lifted it, exactly like a real arm.

“Okay, so it’s not just the lighting,” Kihri noted as Zarah moved it into the sun for a better look. “Something is either different about this ghostlight, or it’s a hollow shell around something else.”

“Not a shell, I do not think,” Zarah said, lifting the severed end and moving it to show her that it was the same colour and texture all the way across. “If it was, would it not show here?”

“Yyyyeah, I guess? Unless it healed over, like a stump does?”

“I… what is the knife you talk about sometimes?”

“…okay, first of all, they’re _swords_, not knives, and-”

“Not that. Those. The… imaginary one, the words one. About evidence?”

“‘The simplest explanation from the given evidence is most likely correct’?”

“Yes! That words. There is less assuming for it being solid than it being able to heal, no?”

“Fair point, okay, yeah. So if this a different type of ghostlight, what’s making it that way? And why did Metzin think it was important enough to hide away like this?”

Zarah frowned, turning the arm over. “You check the notebooks, I investigate this?”

“Mm. Ten minutes check-in unless you find something big?”

Zarah nodded. It was their standard method of research – Kihri handled written materials, Zarah handled physical stuff. It would’ve been easier if Kihri could actually interact with anything, but Zarah had gotten very adept at flipping pages at her grunted signal while still concentrating on other things.

They quickly fell into a rhythm, Kihri murmuring observations and comments to herself, Zarah absentmindedly chewing on her cheek as she thought.

The first thing that drew her attention was the flexibility. She held the arm up to the light and flexed it back and forth, watching the way the ghostlight shifted and reacted to the motion. There was a slight shimmer around the joints as they moved, that reminded her of… something, buried in the back of her mind. Experience had taught her not to force things like that – it’d come to her eventually. Instead, she turned her attention to the fingers, running her own over the surface, admiring the intricate detail. If not for the colour, she could have believed it was real – there were creases and wrinkles and lines and folds, all looking perfectly realistic. It was almost as if someone had made a cast of a real arm and then filled, or-

_-as if someone had coated a real arm in ghostlight. _

The instant it occurred to her, she knew she was correct. It made too much sense – the smell, the texture, the appearance. _But, the end, like Kihri pointed out- Ohh. Not coated, but _soaked. _Infused, even._

A hunch wasn’t going to convince Kihri, though. She started prodding around at the stump again, observing the way it reacted when she applied pressure. Like how real tissue paled as the blood was forced away, the darker red was pushed back around the point of contact, leaving only the bright red ghostlight behind.

But, when she let go, it slowly faded back over the course of a few seconds. Which, admittedly, _was _also like real tissue.

It just wasn’t like _dead _tissue.

“What isn’t?”

Zarah blinked, glancing up at Kihri. “Pardon?”

“What isn’t like dead tissue?”

_Oh. _She hadn’t realised she’d spoken aloud. “Five more minutes,” she said instead. “Just… thinking. Out loud.”

“Well, don’t make it a habit. That’s _my _cute quirk, get your own.”

It didn’t actually matter if it was alive or not, she realised quickly. Trying to fit it into categories was just going to complicate things – all she had to do for now was investigate and observe. And what she _observed _was that, despite being detached from any kind of circulatory system, the arm still had some degree of… _life_ to it, for lack of a better word.

Zarah thought for a second, then leant back, propping one hand on the ground so she could grab her knife from her ankle with the other. Idly, she flipped it around, holding it by the blade as she lifted the arm again, and carefully ran the point along the ‘skin’.

To her surprise, it didn’t cut it at all. The skin depressed slightly, but showed no sign of being cut, or even scratched. It made a noise too, a soft scraping _skkrt_, almost like stone.

She frowned, then adjusted her grip and tried again, holding the knife by the handle this time and putting her weight behind it. Still, the same result – it didn’t even seem to depress any further. Cutting, sawing, and stabbing were all equally futile; the latter glanced off so smoothly that she barely felt the resistance at all.

She _did _feel it when the redirected force sent the knife right into her thigh, though.

Biting down on the yelp of shock and pain, and the flood of vitriol that followed it, she yanked the blade back out and dropped it on the ground, then reached over and grabbed the hammer, letting the blacklight wipe away the pain, and, within a few seconds, the injury.

_Ohhh, this could become dangerously habit-forming. _

She hadn’t exactly worried about it when it had been from getting speared through the chest or jumping out of a skyscraper; they weren’t exactly regular occurrences. _Not yet, anyway_. But this? The sort of mundane injury she could get any day? That could become a problem really quickly.

When she glanced over to the side, Kihri was smirking back at her, mouth open.

Zarah beat her to it, a finger jabbing into her face serving to cut the comment off. “Say _nothing_.”

“Nothing.” Zarah fixed her with a glare, and she blew a raspberry in response. “So, it’s catch-up time, or close enough. Did you find anything? Apart from how fleshy and full of blood you are, I mean.”

It didn’t take long to recount her discoveries and theories, but Kihri was still practically vibrating with impatience by the end. _Wait, she might literally be vibrating. _For a moment, she was tempted to throw in some absurd nonsense to test if Kihri was actually listening, but, well. _That’s her cute quirk, after all. _

“Okay, okay, great,” Kihri cut in almost as soon as she finished. “Fantastic, whatever. May I _please _tell you about the _actually interesting _things I’ve learned now?”

Zarah had actually thought her discoveries _had _been interesting, and had to stop herself from lashing out at the insult. “…please.”

“Oh, thank you for your benevolence, great one.” Then, dropping back out of the affected ‘fancy’ accent she’d adopted. “Okay, so they’re Metzin’s… I want to say _journals? _But that doesn’t really communicate the sheer batfuckery of what’s going on here. It’s like, half diary, half research log, half avant-garde performance art, half technically diary, half sketchbook.”

“Too many halves, no?”

“_You’re _too many halves. Also, she’s _really _bad at drawing. I don’t know why I had expectations of her being good at it, but I did, and she’s not. Not even at technical drawing which is barely real drawing anyway, all you need is a ruler and a decent sense of three dimensional space.”

“Maybe not as common as you think. The point?”

“Okay, well, first of all, she’s _scary_, but I guess we already knew that from the whole mutilated corpse thing. Second, _that _is a human arm.”

“Already said that.”

“Yeah, but I learned it before you did, and also yours was only a theory and mine is fact, and also shut up. They only go back about a year, but I’m pretty sure there’s more of them before that somewhere, so they don’t say where she found it, but they _do _have the results of some tests she did. Listen to this.” She cleared her throat and held up a finger. “In ze case of Test 17B,” she said in an awful Gaithien accent, “increasing _sevarences _vere applied to ze specimen by ze application of a hydwaulic press.”

“Stop.”

“The application,” she continued in a normal voice, rolling her eyes, “failed to have any effect on the specimen, and in fact began to dent the surface it rested on, leaving a thick impression that bears the minute detail of the specimen’s surface. Shortly thereafter, the press broke entirely, while the specimen remains undamaged.”

“Hydraulic press?”

“Trust me when I say it’s powerful and leave it at that. Anyway, that was number seventeen, out of _three hundred and counting. _She’s just started with industrial mining equipment, and I for one am _thrilled _to find out whether it works or not.”

Silently, Zarah held up the clearly-undamaged arm.

“Uh, _spoilers_, asshole! But yeah, I know. What’s interesting, though, is that there’s not an proper description of it, cause like I said there are probably more before the first one, _but _there are occasional references to how the experiments affect the ‘skin’ on the arm. Seems like a bit of an odd word choice, don’tcha think? Especially considering they grow less frequent over time.”

Zarah connected the dots. “You believe it used to appear as a normal arm.”

“Mm-hm. I’m pretty sure, actually, that this was just straight-up-and-down somebody’s real arm. The skin just decayed over time, but presumably whatever the fuck they did to themself with the ghostlight preserved the rest. To a degree, anyway.”

“So this, which is unharmed by big amounts of force-”

“-and gunfire, and explosions, and acid, and lasers-”

“-someone out there was walking around as this?”

“No reason to assume it wasn’t their whole body, either, but yeah. Guess we know why she’s got it stashed in the middle of a field, huh?”

“…why write down coordinates, though?”

“I’unno, maybe she’s scatterbrained. Bet you these are the originals, and she’s got copies of everything closer to hand.”

“For what purposes?”  
Kihri blinked, seeming genuinely surprised. “I mean… do I really have to say it?”

“…”

“Fine, geez. She’s _obviously _trying to recreate it for herself, or for someone else, or… _whatever._”

Zarah was confident she would’ve gotten to the same conclusion, given a few more minutes to think, but having it spelled out like that galvanised another realisation. “The power station,” she blurted. “Mehrvitz. This is- he was the lab mouse! She must not have it solved yet, so she experiments.” The sight of the body, methodically brutalised, flashed back into her head. “One limb at a time, even. Test on limb, hit with hammer or with,” she waved a hand vaguely in the direction of the notebooks, “power tools, explosives, whatever, then repeat on next limb.”

Kihri looked a little queasy. “Fucked up how that’s _better _than her just torturing the guy for the sake of it, huh?” Zarah disagreed, but didn’t think anything productive would come of saying so. “Wait, but where does Othranta fit into this, then? He was just,” she made a punching gesture, “one-and-done.”

“That was the other one, the man. He is connected, but…” she paused for a moment, letting her brain catch up to her mouth. “They are at… cross-purposes, maybe? Not same goal, but allies. Or maybe same goal but not allies?”

“So, what, he was just a random kill from the Blue Man Group?”

“He did… seem like the type, yes.”

“Won’t argue with that,” Kihri murmured. “Okay, that all _sounds _plausible, but we could be completely off-the-mark. We need actual _evidence, _to make sure we’re not on a wild goose hunt if nothing else.” She glanced over at Zarah, and found her sister staring off into the middle distance, deep in thought. “Oh, I fucking hate that look. You have an idea, don’t you.”

Zarah nodded. “Promise me you will not yell?”

“I promise,” Kihri lied.


	11. Breezeblocks

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which purposes and paths are both crossed

Abigail Huan whistled as she worked, tapping away at her keyboard. It had been a busy morning, but things had quieted down now, giving her a chance to catch up on the part of the job she actually liked.

That always threw people off, when she told them. Why not become an office administrator, then, or any other job that was actually focused around the paperwork rather than it being a secondary priority? Truth be told, she’d asked herself that more than a few times, but on days like today, those doubts couldn’t be further from her mind. The trick was, that in those other jobs, the paperwork was _expected, _the bare minimum. But in a field where it was regarded as an annoyance, a bureaucratic hobble? Being the one person not only willing but _happy _to handle it engendered a _lot _of good credit towards her. Good credit, _and _a significant amount of leeway.

And if all it cost her was sometimes having to rummage around inside corpses, then that was a price worth paying.

She finished transcribing the comments left by the primary coroner, double-checked her work, then let the system whisk it away for approval and filing. She leaned back in her chair as it loaded, yawning and reaching for her drink. _Empty, _she realised as she picked it up, and let out an overly-dramatic groan as she dropped it into the trash can and stood, grabbing her phone and ID. They had a small kitchenette inside the building, but she didn’t like hot drinks, and had been firmly shot down when she asked after keeping soda in the fridge. Going out to the vending machine in the lobby wasn’t that big a deal, though, so she hadn’t pushed – and while it meant dealing with Front Desk Joe’s flirting, it was never more than light comments; she could deal.

The sun was just setting as she stepped out into the lobby, stabbing directly into her eyes.

The air was cool, and slightly musty – she thought she could smell a storm brewing on the breeze, but she’d been wrong before.

“Hey, Abigail,” Front Desk Joe called out, a small grin on his face. “Getting lonely?”

She gave her best approximation of a polite smile in response. “Yes, I’m missing my caffeine dearly.” She tilted her head towards the vending machine. “‘Fraid you just can’t compete.”

Joe laughed, leaning back behind his desk and picking up a paperback novel. “Fair enough.” He returned to reading, not watching her as she walked across, or when she had to crouch to get her drink from the machine’s slot. It was a low bar, practically underground, but she’d take what she could get.

As she returned to the door, she paused halfway through cracking open the bottle to stare. Had that potted plant always been so close to the doorway? She’d thought it had been about a foot further away than it was… but then again, it wasn’t like she’d ever really paid attention to it. She shrugged, dismissing the thought, and unlocked the door, ducking back through. She was probably just tired.

* * *

“Okay,” Kihri said after a few moments, whispering even though there was zero risk of her being heard. “I think we’re good.”

Slowly, Zarah let herself relax, sagging against the wall as she released the breath she’d been holding. Getting in hadn’t been the problem – she’d just waited near the employee entrance until someone had come out with a bag of trash, and had slipped a thick piece of tape over the latch while they were distracted. That let her bypass the camera at the front entrance, and she’d only had to hide behind a vending machine for twenty-ish minutes before the man at the front desk had gone for a bathroom break. The outside cameras were static, but the ones inside the lobby moved in a steady sweep – all she had to do was stop one from moving for a few seconds with the handle of the hammer, desyncing them and creating a blindspot over the door every minute or so.

When Abigail (she’d overheard her name from the front desk guard) had come out, she’d stuck the hammer’s hilt in between the door and the frame, holding it open. It was a little bit of a risk, as she had to extend it out from the potted plant that hid her from view, but it was only a few seconds until the blindspot arrived and she’d been able to slip through.

The trouble came on the other side of the door. It was a clean, white corridor, with doors at regular intervals on the left, all of them secured with card readers. It was also barely wider than the doorway, and completely free of hiding spots.

The corridor did turn after a while, but Zarah could tell it was too far to make it in time, even with the blacklight – she could already hear the footsteps approaching.

Kihri had been saying something about squeezing flat and broken noses, but Zarah had already tuned her out, beginning to move. She didn’t have a concrete plan, there hadn’t been time, but following instincts she couldn’t quite place, she had coiled like a spring, then shot upwards and to her left, hitting the wall with one hand and one foot, bending into the impact and using it to push off again towards the other wall.

The narrowness of the corridor had turned from a problem to a solution – she barely had to cross any distance before making contact again, letting her maintain most of the upward momentum. Because of that, just those two jumps had been enough to clear the doorframe; just as it began to open, too.

Zarah planted one foot on the frame, and pressed the other against the adjacent wall, using the leverage to push herself back and up into the corner and stay there. It wasn’t exactly _comfortable _– her neck ached something fierce – but it had held her up long enough for Abigail to pass underneath and disappear out of sight around the corner at the end.

“…since when the fuck are you a ninja?” Kihri asked after a second, actually sounding genuinely awed. “That was _radical, _man!”

“…thank you, I think?” Zarah kept her voice low – Kihri might not be audible, but she certainly was. “Is radical good or bad?”

“That’s the beautiful part: it’s _both_.”

Zarah rolled her eyes and began walking. “<Stupid language. Stupid, _stupid _language.>”

She proceeded cautiously down the corridor, shoes squeaking softly on the linoleum despite her best efforts. Kihri acted as a scout, phasing through the doors of the locked rooms, and calling back what she found. Admittedly, most of it consisted of variations on “too dark, can’t see shit”, but any information was better than nothing.

The corridor after the turn was basically the same as the corridor before it, but with fewer doors. It, too, turned sharply to the left after a similar distance – presumably, it encircled the central ‘block’ of rooms on three sides, with the lobby on the fourth. Zarah hadn’t seen another entrance from the lobby, though, so there presumably wasn’t another door at the other end.

The light hadn’t changed either – bright fluorescents set flush into the ceiling – so it took Zarah a second to figure out what was bothering her. Only a second, though.

“There,” she whispered, knowing Kihri would hear it regardless. “Third down.”

“What? What’s the- ohhh, good spot!”

The doors were all solid, painted metal, and nearly flush with their frames, but from underneath the bottom of the door in question light spilled out onto the opposite wall, barely noticeable until you did, at which point it became glaring.

“Yep, she’s in here,” Kihri called out, as Zarah advanced cautiously. “Tapping away in a side office, but we’ve got slabs, we’ve got creepy corpse-drawers; it’s an autopsy suite, baby!”

“Any bodies out?”

“No, it’s all spic and span. Loooooooooks like our girl here is handling all the grunt work – forms and shit. Somebody in charge must _really _hate her.”

Kihri knew, conceptually, that other people had different opinions to her; she’d just never seen why that should affect her in any way.

Zarah placed one hand on the cold metal of the doorway, opening her mouth to ask a question. Before she could speak, though, she was interrupted, by the sound of voices from behind them, and the _click _of the door opening.

“Kihri!” she hissed. “More people, coming!”

“Oh, shit.” A moment later, her face popped out of the door, looking concerned. “Um, can you make it to the next turn?”

Again, the voices were too loud, too close. She shook her head.

“Shit,” Kihri repeated. “Can’t go up this time, they’ll spot you. Can’t go back, can’t go forward. Don’t suppose you’ve suddenly discovered you can teleport or turn invisible, have you?”

Zarah wasn’t listening, glancing between the door and the direction of the sounds. “How far is she from door?”

“Who, Abigail? Um, about ten feet, but-”

Zarah nodded, then stepped back and rapped loudly on the door with her knuckles.

Kihri’s eyes immediately widened, and she disappeared backwards through the door like she’d been shot out of a cannon.

“What the fuck are you doing?” she demanded. “She’s coming over now! What, you figure if you’re going to get caught, might as well go all out?!”

Zarah didn’t respond, dropping into a crouch and placing one hand against the wall to stabilise herself. The voices were louder now, the footsteps losing their echo as they grow closer, and barely a second later, two figures stepped around the corner-

And were immediately obscured by the door swinging open in front of her.

“…okay, damn,” Kihri said slowly. “Not gonna lie, that was slick.”

“Would you be Abigail Huan?” one of the voices asked. Friendly, if a bit gruff.

“…I would,” Abigail responded slowly. “Look, I’m sorry, but this is a restricted area, and you need to be authorised to be back here.”

“Good thing we are, then,” chuckled the voice, and there was a jangling of metal, presumably as badges were raised. “I’m Detective Spencer, this is Detective Guster. We’re with the 7th, Miscellany Unit.”

Zarah _very_ _carefully_ didn’t move. Cops. Of course there were cops here now. Of _course._

“…I wasn’t aware there was a… ‘Miscellany Unit’.”

“Well, there is, and you’re looking at it! The entirety of it, actually, which is probably why you haven’t heard of us.”

“A unit… of two people?”

“It’s a strange arrangement, to be sure. Can we come in?” It hadn’t escaped Zarah’s notice that ‘Detective Spencer’ had referred to a partner, but they hadn’t said a single word so far.

“I… may I see your badges again?” Footsteps, and the same rustling of metal as before. “…alright. Okay. Come in, I guess?”

“Much obliged,” Spencer replied jovially. “After you.”

The door shifted as Abigail moved away from the door, beginning to swing shut before something else caught it, presumably one of the detectives.

“‘Miscellany Unit’?” a new voice asked. It was soft, raspy and coarse like a smoker, and no doubt pitched low enough that Abigail wouldn’t be able to hear it. “Really?”

“Oh come on,” Spencer protested at the same volume, “it’s a classic.”

The door began to swing shut, the sound of footsteps obscuring the rest of the conversation. It was slow enough that Zarah could have slipped through before it closed, but instead, when Kihri gave her the go-ahead, she just reached around and placed another piece of tape over the catch.

“So,” Kihri started, “what are we thinking? Criminals? Spies? Aliens?”

“Can you listen in?” Zarah asked in a whisper, ignoring the question.

“Already on it,” came the response. She began narrating the scene inside the suit, doing surprisingly accurate imitations of the voices, but Zarah was only half-listening.

Silently, she rose to her feet, and began padding further down the corridor, more out of restlessness than any clear goal. At the very least, she could make sure she had a clear path out of the building if things went bad- 

She paused, considered how the last few days had been going, and sighed.

_When _things went bad, then. 

* * *

“Hami Othranta.” Abigail pulled back the sheet with one hand, revealing the corpse’s face and upper torso. In the other, she held a clipboard, which she was currently reading off of. “Seventeen years old, ward of the state but a frequent runaway. Was found early this morning underneath an overpass on the outskirts of Kaila by a driver who stopped to urinate there, and called the police.”

“Yes,” Guster said testily, “we know. Can you get on with it, please?” She was a short, slim woman, surprisingly young, with wavy black hair up in a tight bun and ambiguously-brown skin dotted with freckles. Her appearance would have been entirely unremarkable, dressed in a plain grey suit with no tie and practical boots (underneath the forensic suit, obviously), except for the fact that her left eye was covered by a plain black patch, thin straps holding it tight against the socket.

“Hey,” Abigail snapped back, “you’re the ones who came waltzing in with no prior warning. I was _trying _to be thorough, because _I don’t know what you do and don’t know _because _you haven’t told me._”

“Ladies, ladies!” Spencer chuckled, holding up his hands. “No need to fight.” He was a middle-aged white man, tall and solidly built, dark beard shot through with streaks of gray and white. Like the others, he was wearing one of the white forensic suits, but underneath was a checkered shirt and slacks, the former with its sleeves rolled up and enough buttons undone to reveal an impressive forest of chest hair that made his receding hairline even more noticeable in contrast. His face was creased with laugh lines and crow’s feet, but behind a pair of simple rectangular glasses, his dark brown eyes were alert and watchful.

Abigail and Guster both turned to him with expressions that could only be described as ‘withering’, and he quickly lowered his hands. “Like it or not, Rinet, she’s kinda right. Cut her some slack.”

“Hrm.” Guster folded her arms, tilting her head to the side slightly, but said nothing.

Spencer gave Abigail a rueful grin, giving a ‘what can you do?’ shrug. “I promise, we want this to be as easy and convenient for everyone, including you. If you could just run us through the notes from the beginning, we’ll be out of your hair lickety-split.”

“From the _very _beginning?” Abigail asked with a glance at Guster, whose scowl only deepened.

“Like we know nothing at all,” Spencer confirmed.

“Oh good,” muttered Abigail, “we’re on the same page.” She cleared her throat, returning to the clipboard. “Okay, right. Time of death is listed as between the hours of 19:00 and 22:00, Sunday evening. Cause of death…” she trailed off, looking puzzled. “That’s strange.”

“Is it not filled in?”

“No,” she replied, turning it to show them, “it’s listed as a TBI – traumatic brain injury.”

“Which is, what?” Spencer asked. “Exactly what it says on the tin?”

“Essentially, yes. Well, no, but lies-to-children and all that crap. What’s weird is that…” She went quiet again, flipping through the pages, brown creased in concentration. “Hm.”

“Wait,” Guster interjected suddenly. “So you’re telling me he _didn’t _die from the giant hole in his chest?”

“That’s what it says,” Abigail confirmed. “Not actually that unusual for this kind of injury; even if you’re losing blood rapidly, something else usually gets there first.”

“This kind of injury? You see basketball-sized holes in people’s chests a lot?”

Without looking up, Abigail held up fingers and began ticking them off. “Hydraulic press, falling debris, machine-mounted jackhammer, improperly-secured pipe smashed through the back of the driver’s compartment of a truck by a rear-end collision, gored by an elephant.” She glanced up. “Does that count as ‘a lot’?”

Spencer raised an eyebrow. “…so you’re the _assistant _coroner?”

“Better paperwork-to-viscera ratio. You’re not exactly wrong, though,” she said to Guster, who raised a solitary eyebrow. “About it being unusual, I mean.”

“How so,” she asked dryly.

“Well, like I said, this kind of injury isn’t exactly _common_, but it’s not unprecedented either. We do have other cases to compare it against, and it doesn’t really fit what we’d expect based on that. The cause of death is part of that – TBIs aren’t like strokes, they don’t just _happen_. Most common cause is whiplash, an impact smacking the brain against the side of the skull. An impact like, say, whatever aeriated our victim’s torso.”

“Except?”

“Except there are no signs of anything like that here. No injury to the muscles, tendons or soft tissue in the neck, or anywhere else. Hell, even the tissue around the wound is barely damaged at all!

“Wait,” Spencer asked, “why _would _it be damaged? Or, more damaged, I guess.”

“Knock-on effect, basically. Injuries like this aren’t usually _clean_, in the sense that they’re blunt-force. Not slicing, but crushing and tearing with enough force to cause separation of flesh, which, as you can imagine, tends to damage the surrounding tissue pretty badly. 

Here, though, it’s… well, it’s _almost _like someone cut this hole with a knife. An extremely long knife, I guess. Maybe cheese wire or something, doesn’t matter.”

“Is that… an actual possibility?” Guster asked cautiously.

“No, no. Almost only counts in horseshoes and handgrenades, after all. There’s enough to tell that whatever hit him entered from the front of the chest and exited at the back – if you rolled him over, you’d be able to see the scraps of skin hanging in that direction. Don’t do that, though,” she added hastily.

“We’re not stupid,” Guster replied acerbically.

“Could’ve fooled me,” Abigail muttered under her breath.

“Pardon?”

“Could it have been a bullet?” Spencer cut in, saving Abigail from having to come up with a lie. “Some kind of exotic round or something?”

“Good thought,” she said, pointing at him, “but no. Bullets, or any kind of high-velocity projectile, are pretty unmistakable in terms of the damage they do. A sufficiently high-powered round could cause a hole of the same size, but it’d be much rougher and messier, and we’d find shrapnel fragments embedded in the wound. This is… almost exactly what we’d expect from someone who’d been, say, stabbed with a piece of rebar.”

Simultaneously, the two detectives looked at the wound.

“That’s one hell of a piece of rebar,” Spencer muttered.

“Yeah, obviously it wasn’t that _specifically, _but it’s consistent with a very large, cylindrical object with a pointed tip, moving at high speeds. And then also,” she added, as if just remembering, “brain injuries with seemingly no cause. Sound like anything you know?Cause it sure doesn’t to me.”

Spencer and Guster exchanged a glance. “Can’t say it does,” Spencer said slowly. “What’s your best guess?”

Abigail frowned, brow creasing in thought. “…armoured octopus?” she said at last, earning a snort from Spencer. “A giant, armoured, land octopus. Jokes aside, the coroner’s speculated it was an excavation drill, and I’m inclined to agree, if only because he’s my boss. That, or some kind of… experimental or exotic weapons test, but I’m coming up short as to what that would actually look like.”

“What makes you think that, then?” Guster asked, sounding genuinely curious for the first time.

“Eh,” Abigail shrugged one shoulder. “More the context of the crime than anything else. Homeless kid with an unusual wound, clearly dumped far from where he was killed. I read a lot of spy fiction,” she added, seeing the looks they were giving her. “Just an idle thought.”

“…I’m sure,” Spencer said slowly. “Sorry, Miss Huan, but would you mind running back into the office and making some copies of that report for us? I want to spend a little more time just…” he made a spinning gesture next to his head, “letting it process, while we’re still here.”

There was something in his eyes that there hadn’t been before, something that set her nerves on edge. “…sure,” she replied. “No touching, yeah?”

“No contamination,” he confirmed seriously.

On edge, but unable to justify why, she turned back towards the office. He was still watching her, though; the itch between her shoulder blades told her that much.

She glanced over her shoulder, just in time to catch the end of a flurry of motion, shoes squealing against the linoleum.

Spencer had stepped forward, and there was something odd about how one of his arms was hanging. She couldn’t get a better look, though, because Guster had stepped between them, one arm on her partner’s, glaring up at him with disgust. She spat a few hushed words, too quiet for Abigail to here, and Spencer started to respond. He noticed her looking after only a moment, though, and fell silent, staring into her eyes as his arm began to rise up-

There was a single, sharp knock on the door.

They all went still.

“Abigail?” an unfamiliar voice called out, loud enough to be heard through the closed door and pane of glass between them. “Are you in there?”

She was absolutely certain she’d never heard that voice before, but… they knew her name, and it wasn’t like they could have gotten to this point unauthorised. “I’m-” she coughed, clearing her throat, which had suddenly gone dry. “I’m in here, yes.”

“Excellent,” came the reply, and a second later, the door swung open, revealing the voice’s owner as she stepped inside.

It was a young, dark-skinned woman, dressed in loose, casual clothing under one of the generic labcoats that the morgue bought in bulk and kept in every room. She had a long, angular face, liberally pockmarked with tiny acne scars, as well as two distinct moles next to the bottom of a high, aquiline nose. Her eyes were green, deep-set with heavy bags underneath, but her gaze was sharp and inscrutable as she glanced around the room before settling on Abigail.

“Abby, hello. I have some forms I need you to sign, please?” There was a distinct accent to her voice, the words careful and stilted, but her tone was casual and relaxed, and Abigail knew without a doubt that she had never seen the girl before in her life.

“…which ones?” she asked carefully, hyperaware of the two detectives behind her.

The girl gestured her over to the observation window, which she stood on the other side of. “Apologies, they have come in last minute.”

She showed her the clipboard, turning it just enough that she could see but it would still be obscured to the others.

There were no forms on it, though. Instead, scrawled hastily on crumpled paper, were the words ‘THEY ARE GOING TO KILL YOU’.

Then, while Abigail was still frozen, she flipped to the next page. ‘GUN INSIDE MAN’S SUIT’, it read. Then, lower down; ‘COME WITH ME’.

Abigail felt like her veins were filled with ice, but she somehow managed to nod calmly, before turning back towards the detectives.

“Sorry,” she said, slightly unnerved at how level her voice was, “but I have to go handle this. Excuse me for a minute?” Now that it had been pointed out, she could tell that Spencer’s right arm wasn’t all the way into the sleeve, and there was an odd oblong shape at the bottom.

She met his eyes, and though they were back to being friendly and affable, she could feel in her bones that he was aware she knew.

“Of course,” he said, with a grin and a slight chuckle. “Me and my partner here have some private business to discuss anyway, as you can probably tell.”

Guster wasn’t holding Spencer’s arm anymore, but there was something _interdictive _about the way she was standing, in front of him and slightly to the side. She’d physically stopped her partner from shooting Abigail, and she was holding him back still, though she wasn’t quite sure how. Guster wasn’t his superior; their dynamic was one of equals.

Wanting to acknowledge the other woman’s actions, but unable to without breaking the fragile stalemate, she just gave her a quick nod before turning away.

“Shouldn’t be more than a few minutes,” she lied.

“Maybe longer,” the girl added, giving a rueful shrug. “Apologies.”

Abigail could feel the three sets of eyes on her as she passed through the airlock, the detectives, if they even were that, hard-edged and dangerous, and the girl’s, calm and patient. It was almost impossible not to rush as she stripped off her forensic suit and shoe coverings, and by the time she made it outside, her breathing had begun to grow ragged with the stress.

“Good,” the girl said approvingly as she stepped out, gesturing with her head towards the door. “The main thing that has been giving me trouble is these three?” She moved alongside Abigail, using the pretext of showing her the clipboard to place a hand gently on her back and guide her forward. “I believe that one of the coroners has filed them incorrectly? Or maybe used the wrong form? Or-”

The door clicking shut behind them sounded as loud as a thunderclap. The girl immediately stopped talking, removing her hand and stepping away, the calm expression on her face falling away, replaced with a hard, neutral mask.

“Sorry,” she said, as Abigail sagged against the door, breathing heavily. “For touching you, I mean.”

Abigail blinked at her, confused. “I… it’s fine, why would you think that-… it’s fine.”

“Good,” she replied with a nod. She leaned down, and picked up a bag that Abigail hadn’t even noticed was sitting next to the door, along with… a hockey stick, in some kind of handmade sling? She slipped out of the labcoat, stuffing it into the backpack, and then slung both of them over her shoulders.

“We should go,” she said brusquely, starting to walk. “Away from them.”

“I…” Abigail still felt like she was about to faint, but she found herself walking anyway, as if pulled into her wake. “Who… why… _what is happening?!” _She hadn’t realised she had yelled until the girl shot her a glare over her shoulder. “What is happening?!” she repeated, softer but no less intense, some of her composure starting to return. “Who are you? Who are _they_? How did you get in here? How did you know my name? How did you know-”

The girl cut off her stream of questions with a raised hand. “Zarah,” she said, pointing at herself, then started ticking off fingers as she addressed the other points. “Them, I have never seen or met. Probably actually government, not cops. Joe at front desk said your name.”

“Wh-” Abigail stumbled as she processed that. “You were in the lobby?!” she demanded. “You _weren’t_. I would have seen you.”

Zarah shrugged one shoulder. “Very good at hiding.”

“It’s a _completely open- _…the potted plant.”

“You should probably upgrade your security,” Zarah confirmed.

This was too much, this was all too much. “Dammit,” she muttered as they rounded the corner. “I _really _liked this job.”

“You could be dead,’ Zarah replied coldly.

“…_shit, _I really could be.” It still didn’t seem quite real, honestly. “Um, I don’t know if I… thanked you? For that? Ugh, this feels weird.”

“It is mutual, believe me.”

Abigail barked a short, humourless laugh. “Well, that’s a relief. Still, thank you, whoever the fuck you are, for saving me from getting executed by the fucking men in black.”

“I already told you my name?” Zarah said, sounding confused.

“Yeah, but like, who _are _you? Some random…” she trailed off, staring at the back of Zarah’s head. “Holy shit, you’re just a _kid, _aren’t you?” She hadn’t noticed it before, but now it felt almost blindingly obvious. “How fucking old are you, fifteen?! Wait, is that… was he your friend? Othranta, I mean.”

“Seventeen,” Zarah replied without looking back. “Or eighteen, maybe. And no, I did not know him… but yes, he was why I was here. I needed to look at his body again.”

“Again?”

She waved a hand. “Long story, no matter.”

“Kind of fucking is matter, actually!”

Abigail could _hear _the eye roll. “You sound like my sister.”

“She sounds sensible, then!”

“She is _really _not.” It was the closest she had come to sounding amused. “Ah, and of course, my mother-in-law loves me. Where did you go?”

“…me?” Abigail asked, confused. Apart from them, the corridor was empty.

“No,” Zarah said over her shoulder, before turning back. “Kihri, what are you- Kihri.”

“Who are you talking to?” Abigail asked.

Zarah waved a hand. “My sister, _shh_.”

Abigail looked around, but the corridor continued to be empty.

“What do you- _slow down_,” Zarah was saying to thin air. “I cannot- no. No. ‘Fuckiting-bye’ is not words, you need to use _words._ _Al’khya ilti tazheal ayamia maeaha, _Kihri, just-” She gave up with a huff, turning away to resume stalking down the corridor.

“…do I need to be worried?” Abigail asked cautiously, following her. Maybe she was being a little too trusting, all things considered, but as far as she was considered, Zarah had earned some for stepping in like she had. “It sounded like she was trying to tell you something?”

“She was,” Zarah growled, “but she cannot ever just _say _things, it always must be jokes and euphemists, and now I know not what she actually-” She took a deep breath. “It is fine.”

“…okay, then.” They were almost at the door now, and Abigail raised her keycard. Halfway there, though, she paused. “Can you…” she asked slowly, “feel something?”

Zarah’s gaze whipped around to lock on to her. “Feel what?”

“I don’t know, there’s just…” Whatever it was, it was on the very edge of her perception. “Vibration?” she guessed.

Zarah’s face went cold. “Kihri!” she called out. “Is it-”

_Boom!_

The lights cut out in an instant, the building shaking as whatever impact had caused the noise destabilised it. They returned on a second later, but much weaker, and flickering erratically.

Zarah muttered something under her breath, then let her bag slide off her shoulder and caught the strap in one hand. She held it out to Abigail, gaze intense. “_Khudh idhada,” _she snapped, gesturing with the bag. “_Ghada! __Aletur ealae makan amin-_”

“What- I can’t understand you!”

She growled, rolling her eyes. “Take bag, run away. Yes?”

“While you do- what?” Still, she took the bag, finding it surprisingly heavy.

Zarah reached up, and yanked the beanie off her head, revealing a shock of wiry, snow-white hair bound up in a bun. “What I should know better.”

Somehow, Abigail didn’t think she’d appreciate a correction on her grammar.

* * *

“Kihri!” Zarah snapped as she ran back down the corridor, hurriedly rolling up the sleeves of her baggy sweatshirt to the elbow. “Where are you? What is happening?”

“Safely underground, thank you very much,” came her sister’s disembodied voice. “No way am I sticking around when things start exploding.”

“Things exploding? What things?”

“Well, not really ‘exploding’, I guess, but something big smashed through the wall, and I wasn’t about to wait for the dust to settle to see what it was.”

Something heavy settled in Zarah’s gut. “Were the two still in there?”

“Ayup,” Kihri confirmed. “Spencer was pissed at Guster for stopping him from killing Huan, Guster was pissed at Spencer for trying to kill Huan, something about protocol, yadda yadda, then the wall exploded. On the plus side, they’re probably both dead now, so we don’t have to worry about that, at least.”

“Come back,” Zarah demanded. “I need your eyes.”

“Too bad, because I ‘need them’ to stay inside my skull. I’m cool down here, thanks!”

“You,” Zarah growled, “are a ghost. You cannot get hurt.”

“_You_,” Kihri snapped back, “don’t know that! You don’t get to make that call!”

Zarah didn’t want to let it go, but she’d already arrived at the door, and time was wasting. “Fine,” she said curtly. “But if I die, I will make you miserable.”

“Only fair,” Kihri agreed.

Without removing it from her back, Zarah tapped into the hammer, letting the blacklight flow through her, then reached up and grabbed the door’s hinges, effortlessly ripping them away.

The door immediately began to topple, but she was already stepping back and bracing herself, and before it could truly start to fall, she kicked it dead-centre with all of her strength.

With a heavy _crunch _and a muted, ringing tone, the door went flying backwards, its centre dented inwards a solid six inches or so. It flew true for a second, before smashing through the plane of glass and tumbling into the autopsy room itself, drawing startled noises from the occupants and sending the thick clouds of dust blooming outwards.

There was one more solid impact, then a few more dull clangs as it bounced to a stop, and then the room was silent.

Until, slowly, a voice started to laugh, and the weight in Zarah’s stomach coalesced into a tight ball of focused, cold rage.

The broken glass crunched under her shoes as she stepped inside, walking slowly and deliberately. The laughter continued, and with it came the sound of shifting rubble, and muffled winces of pain. Finally, as she passed over the shattered remains of the observation window’s frame, it faded into chuckles, and then finally stopped entirely.

“_Damn_,” a familiar voice exclaimed, laughter still floating underneath. “That was certainly something!”

There was a blur of motion through the dust cloud, and a second later, a powerful wind tore past her, yanking her few strands of loose hair backwards and clearing away most of the dust.

The room was utterly destroyed, Zarah could see immediately. The far wall and a decent chunk of the ceiling had collapsed entirely, creating a large slope of rubble. Sitting at the front of it, the cab of a truck was lying on its side, one wheel still spinning, headlights providing most of the illumination now that the lights weren’t working.

Improbably, H- the corpse still lay on the slab where Abigail had left it, mostly undisturbed apart from a thin coat of dust. Guster was crouched behind the far end of the slab, similarly coated, and the tattered remains of her forensic suit hung loosely off her. Evidently, she’d torn it open, to get access to the pistol she now held tightly in both hands, finger on the trigger.

She noticed Zarah and her single eye widened with shock then quickly narrowed in recognition and realisation. Zarah ignored her, though, gaze fixed on the new arrival.

Suspended above the floor, the limp form of Spencer held in the same blue tendrils that held him aloft, he turned towards her, and his face split into a broad, slightly manic grin.

“Oh, hey!” said the man from the power station, who’d punched a hole straight through Zarah’s chest and left her for dead, who’d murdered Hami. “Haven’t I killed you before?”


	12. Nobody Speak

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which… oh, screw it. LET’S GET READY TO RUMBLEEEEE!

Silence reigned in the room.

Not _true _silence – rubble shifted and settled, water rushed and spilled from broken pipes, sirens wailed in the distance – but the oppressive, artificial silence that comes from people very purposefully, very deliberately _not _speaking.

The man in blue was the first to break it, of course. “Wait,” he gasped, eyes widening. “Are you mute? Oh man, I’m gonna feel like _such _an asshole if you’re mute.”

With effort, Zarah tore her icy gaze away from him and looked at Guster. “You,” she said curtly, projecting her voice to carry across the room without shouting. “Get out, now.”

“Oh, good!” The man beamed, genuine excitement in his eyes. “That is a _huge _relief, let me tell you. So, what’s your name? I’m Paose, by the by-”

He was interrupted by two loud gunshots, as Guster spun up from behind the slab, pistol raised. Even as the first shots were still ringing, she began to fire again, deafeningly loud, the muzzle flashes briefly lighting up the room.

After ten more shots (Zarah counted), the gunfire ceased, replaced with metallic sliding and clicking as the detective reloaded, eyes still trained on Paose.

“Well,” he chuckled, somewhat hoarsely. “You’re a good shot!” At least a few of the shots had hit him, Zarah was sure, but the soft rain of metallic clinking as he shifted showed that most had been stopped by his ghostlight constructs.

“Put him down,” Guster snapped, apparently unperturbed by him remaining stubbornly not-dead. “Now.”

“Aww,” Paose pouted. “No screaming, no surprise, no ‘how are you still alive’? That’s my favourite part.”

“_Last warning. _Or I’ll show you _exactly _how unsurprised I am.”

He grinned. “Okay then! Putting him down,” he said, and threw Spencer at Zarah.

She stepped to one side, and the man’s limp form sailed clear past her, hitting the ground with a heavy _thump_ and rolling a few times before coming to a stop.

“…huh,” Paose said after a moment. “I’ll be perfectly honest, I expected that to go differently.”

“You,” Zarah addressed Guster, without looking away. “Out. Now.”

The detective started to say something, but Paose beat her to it. “Now where’s the fun in that?” He began to rise higher into the air, tendrils curling back, ready to strike. “_I_ think she should stay right here and _glurgh_.”

Presumably, he’d meant to say something else, but the scalpel that had whistled across the room and split his throat made the point moot.

“Out,” Zarah repeated, hand still outstretched from throwing the blade. “_Now. _Because I am not particularly caring what happens to you otherwise.”

Thankfully, Guster seemed to have gotten the message, and dashed across the room without a moment’s hesitation in a hunched-over dash. Paose gurgled something incoherent, blood gushing from his throat, and the few tendrils not keeping him aloft shot forward to intercept her-

-then immediately went limp as the five _other _scalpels Zarah had grabbed buried themselves in his face and hands.

He roared in pain, his tendrils losing structure and splashing down, but they reformed almost instantly, catching him before he could hit the ground. Not as effective as Zarah had hoped, but it gave Guster enough time to make it over to her side of the room.

“Nice catch, asshole,” the other woman spat as she passed. Zarah gave her a tired bit of side-eye, but didn’t bother to respond as the detective dragged her partner out of the room.

The squelch of Paose yanking the scalpels out was one of the more unpleasant noises Zarah had heard, and she’d witnessed some doozies. “Well,” he said, voice still slightly gurgly, “kudos to you, kid. In my defense, I always forget how _hard _it is to kill you buggers. Yanis always gets _so _smug about that.”

“You know her.” It wasn’t a question.

“Yanis? Of course! Best of buds, she and I!” He paused. “Well, _normally_. She _maybe _might be a little bit mad at me right now over some dumb little thing and I _maybe _went around and smashed up a few of her womancaves in retaliation, but it’ll blow over! I mean, you were there – it wasn’t even that much damage, right? No big deal?”

_Oh, saints, he’s seriously asking. _“It was… pretty bad,” Zarah answered, thrown enough by the sincerity that social mores took over automatically. “You did destroy an entire wall.”

He kissed his teeth. “I did, yeah, I did do that. Shoot.” The malaise only lasted a moment, though. “Ah, I’m sure she’ll forgive me! _Especially _when I tell her I cleaned up the mess that caused this whole thing in the first place.” He raised a hand to his mouth, like he was sharing a secret. “_That means you,” _he whispered conspiratorially, adding a wink for good measure.

And just like that, the brief veneer of normality broke, and the reality of the man opposite her came flooding back – and with it, her rage. In the power station, he’d been _off_, sure, but in a familiar, recognisable way. Here, though, his apparent geniality had thrown her off, crossed wires. She’d _talked _to him, like he was a _person_ instead of a _monster, _instead of a… a rabid _fucking _dog that needed to be _put down_.

He was still talking, but the ringing in her ears drowned out the words, red clouding the edges of her vision. What had before felt cold and solid and compressed was now starting to crack and splinter, breaking free of its containment, revealing itself to be white-hot, volatile, unstable. _Lethal_.

Surrounded by a soft corona of blacklight, her hands shook with tension as the rage flowed over, boiling up and out, filling every inch of her until it felt like the air around her was going to ignite, and she took a single step backwards-

-and _launched _herself forward, less a jump than the path of a bullet fired from a gun, farther than it seemed even her enhanced strength should be able to. She crossed the span of the room in an instant, and Paose barely had time to blink before she _slammed _into him, her fists, fingers interlocked, caving in his chest with a vicious hammerblow.

He went flying backwards, smacking into the wall with a crunch that was equal parts wet and dry, and having passed on most of her momentum to him, Zarah arced downwards, her feet touching the ground a bare instant before her shoulder hit the wall.

She bounced off, _hard, _but managed to stay upright until a collision with one of the slabs brought her to a full stop. The blacklight muted the pain in her shoulder, but she could still feel it throbbing, the uncomfortable sensation of her muscles moving on their own as they pushed things back into alignment.

The rubble where Paose had fallen began to shift, and he began to rise, letting out a few wet, hacking coughs. “Well,” he started to say, but then Zarah smashed a fridge-sized piece of rubble over his head and he went down again.

She didn’t wait for him to recover this time, grabbing a foot-long piece of rebar and jumping to the top of the pile. He was lying in a rough crater, eyes closed and still bleeding from various points. The tendrils had disappeared, but even as she watched, they started to reform, coalescing out of the air.

It was a slow process, though, much slower than the stranger had been with their hound, and they only made for token resistance as she jumped down, swatted them away, and buried the rebar in Paose’s chest.

He cried out, choking on blood, but it turned into more of a pained groan as she twisted it deeper, burying it into the concrete underneath. One foot on his chest, she grabbed the uppermost section of the rebar and twisted it sideways, so he couldn’t just pull himself free.

“Wow,” he choked out, giving a bloodstained grin that somehow actually looked genuine. “Wasn’t expecting the _brutality_. You’re fucked up, kid.” 

“Enough,” she snapped. She’d vented the anger from before, but now it was building up again. Her hands started to shake, but she pulled the hammer from its sling and gripped it tight to keep them steady. “You have-”

Acting on instinct, she spun around, hand lashing out to destroy the tendril that had been forming behind her.

“-five chances,” she finished, looking back down at Paose, who still seemed thrilled with the whole affair. “Where is Metzin.”

“Five chances?” he said with a grin. “Seems a bit-”

Without hesitation, she swung the hammer down, effortlessly smashing through his left kneecap.

“Four chances,” she said over his muffled scream. “Where.”

“One,” he panted, “slight problem with that, though. Did you miss the whole healing- _fuck!_”

“Three.” The first kneecap _had _started to regenerate, though – albeit slower than she’d come to expect from her own wounds. “Kihri,” she snapped. “How do I kill.”

“Ooh,” Paose started to say, “who’s-” but she whipped the hammer around, stopping it only an inch from his head, and he promptly shut up.

“Removing the head or destroying the brain,” came the sullen reply. “Are you asking me how the general… _concept _of killing works? Cause I really thought you had a better grasp-”

“How do I kill _him,” _she interrupted. “Any burner.”

“Uh, break his shade, idiot.” Then, a moment later, “Oh, _fuck _you. I fucking _said _I don’t-”

“Thank you,” she said, and tuned Kihri’s voice out as she continued to rant. She still didn’t know what a shade actually _was, _or what breaking one entailed, but she knew she’d gotten everything she was going to from her sister. 

And sure enough, as she returned her attention back to Paose, she thought she could see… something. It was as if Kihri’s comment had been a… a _primer, _and once she knew- not even what she was looking for but just that she was looking for _something, _her brain could go from there.

The _thing _was around Paose’s neck, draping over his shoulders and sinking into the ground below him. It wasn’t… _real, _she didn’t think; it didn’t obscure the details it should have covered at all. It was more like it was overlaid onto him, and she was seeing them separately from each other. 

_Wait, didn’t Kihri say something about… _

_“Like a cloak or a cape or something,” _she’d said, back under the power station. “_It looked… kinda blue? But also kinda not.”_

And with that, like a camera coming into focus, the object resolved itself into a clear image.

It was made entirely out of blue ghostlight, a shade darker than Paose’s tendrils, but the colour was muted somewhat by that strange overlayed effect. At his neck, a large metal spike was driven through two hands, the arms draping around either side towards his back, trails of blood frozen in time as they dripped down the naked flesh. The arms disappeared into the ground around the bicep, but she could see the top of a head poking out, dangling limply, more blood running down it from an injury at the crown.

“Ah,” Paose said, and the humour had disappeared from his voice for the first time. “Well, shoot.”

_‘Break the shade’, huh? _When she nudged it with the head of her hammer, it seemed solid enough, so she planted one foot on Paose’s torso, swung the hammer back, then everything went blurry for a moment.

When her sight resolved, she found herself looking at a completely different view than the one she’d had before, and her brain had just enough time to process that she was on the other side of the room before a blinding wave of pain consumed her.

Zarah blacked out for a moment. When she came to, her injuries were only agonising as opposed to unbearable – she could feel the blacklight already coursing through her, healing her and deadening the pain (hopefully more of the former than the latter).

She’d been hit be something, she put together, flung across the room in an instant with no warning whatsoever, and had hit the wall so hard that she was _embedded _in it, which is why she was still upright despite being a good metre off the ground. 

Her senses hadn’t quite returned yet, but she could hear the sound of voices, coming from where she’d been standing only moments ago, see a blurry figure standing there.She growled and began tearing herself out of the wall, using the blacklight’s strength to break free of the nigh-perfect imprint of her form, and dropped to the ground. Landing hurt, of course, but _everything _hurt – a state she was growing uncomfortably comfortable with.

The muffled tones began to resolve into words as she stood, her vision focusing enough to make out her attacker.

He was young, pale-skinned and fine-boned, with a smattering of freckles across the bridge of his nose. His mop of wiry black curls looked like it had been _hacked _more than _cut _short, with the exception of the section that fell over his left eye, which had been bleached blonde and cared for to an incongruous degree. The fur collar of a long, middle-grey coat framed a long, gangly neck, and the rest of him fit that standard – as if he hadn’t quite grown into his frame, despite being at least Zarah’s age.

“…completely ignored me!” he was saying. His voice confirmed her speculation – while not high-pitched, it had a breathy, fluted quality to it that made her think of someone just past puberty, though again he was too old for it to actually be that. “It really bums me out when people do that, y’know? It’s… it’s… _impolite, _is what it is!”

Paose’s reply was muffled and incomprehensible, but the boy’s reaction seemed to indicate it was a joke, or whatever passed for one from the man. 

He wiped at his eyes and went to speak, then noticed Zarah and broke into a broad grin. “Oh hey! You’re alive!” He was missing a tooth, she noticed, and a few more were chipped and damaged. “That’s cool, that’s cool! I super-duper didn’t mean to kill you, I just got a little, y’know, _overexcited._” He waggled his fingers, as if that clarified things in the slightest. He looked as if he had more to say (and Zarah was getting the impression he always did), but the blue tendril that wrapped around his neck cut him off short.

“Well,” Paose said, lifting up into view, “this has been fun, but-“

He disappeared.

The tendril holding the boy collapsed, dropping him to the ground, seemingly unharmed. “Whoops,” he said with an embarrassed little grin. 

“What did you do?!” Zarah demanded. “Is he dead?”

“Not… yet?” He pointed upwards, the hole in the ceiling. “Maybe when he lands, I dunno.”

“You…” Zarah connected the dots. Whatever the boy’s trick was, the one that had turned her into a human bullet, he’d used it on Paose – but directed _upwards_. “You _imbecile!_” she hissed, stepping forward. “I _had him!”_

“Wait, what?” He frowned. “Weren’t you fighting him? Ohhh, no, I get it, you’re one of those ‘honourable duel’ people! ‘I have to defeat him myself or it means nothing’, yeah?”

“I _had _defeated him,” she spat. “He had information, information I was _about _to have, until _you have throwing me into the wall! _And _then, _you are _helping him get away!_”

The boy winced. “…oh. Um. Whoops?”

“‘_Whoops’?!” _

“…whoopsie-daisie?”

Zarah snarled and leapt at him, hammer coming down in an overhead blow with so much force that it felt like she had actually injured her shoulders by swinging so hard.

The boy caught it effortlessly with one hand.

The hammer _instantly _stopped, with zero impact and zero recoil. It wasn’t like he was strong enough to take the force, but like he’d somehow neutralised the force entirely, holding the hammer in mid-air.

Zarah, however, hadn’t been affected at all, and so she smacked her face on the hammer’s shaft and tumbled gracelessly to the ground.

“Ooh, sorry.” Gallingly, the boy came over and offered her a hand up. “That looked _nasty_.”

She slapped his hand aside, clambering to her feet. “Who are you?” she demanded. “Why are you here?”

It was, she realised, almost exactly what Abigail had been asking her a few minutes ago, and she found she didn’t like the role-reversal one bit.

“Oh my gosh! I am _so _sorry!” He stuck out his hand. “I’m Remy! Remy Auclair, well, technically it’s Remembrance, but everyone calls me Remy unless they want to make fun of me and you don’t seem like you’d do that!”

Zarah looked at his hand, then back up at him. “Bespelled,” she said flatly. 

“…what?”

_Stupid trash garbage-fire language. _“_Charmed_. _Why _are you _here_?”

“Oh, I’m charmed too!” he replied, ignoring her question. “But it’s rude not to introduce yourself, y’know? Took me _ages _to figure that out, so I _totally_ get it if you didn’t know.”

She resisted the urge to hit him, if only because he’d already proved it would be futile. “Fine,” she snapped. “First name Zarah, last name _you just have tried to kill me._”

He frowned. “That doesn’t sound like a real name.”

“_You_-” She suppressed a growl of frustration. At the very least, he didn’t _seem _hostile. To be honest, he didn’t seem much of _anything_ except dim. “Kihri. He’s gone. Back here.”

“Oh, no, it’s _Remy_. _Re-my_. Don’t worry, it happens all the time. Well, okay, not all the time, but, like, some of the time? Occasionally. It has definitely happened at least once before, probably.”

“Who the fuck is this clown?” Kihri asked as she emerged from the floor. 

“<‘Remy’, apparently. Beyond that, I don’t know.>”

“Who are you talking to?” Remy asked brightly..

“No-one, shut up.” Zarah turned away. “<He showed up just as I had Paose pinned down, effortlessly threw me into the wall, then then sent Paose into orbit when he tried to attack.>”

“Into _orbit?!_”

“<Figuratively speaking. He barely even moved, but it was like Paose had been fired out of a cannon.>”

“Hm. Is- like, kinetic energy manipulation? Is that a thing?”

“<You’re asking me like I would know.>”

“What language is that?” Remy asked

“Oh yeah, you’re right. Hey dipshit!” Kihri yelled at Remy. “What’s your fucking deal?”

Zarah sighed, turning back to face him. “Why are you here, Remy Auclair?”

He beamed. “Hey, you got it right! And, uh, that’s ossified.”

“…do you mean ‘classified’?”

“Probably!” 

Zarah was beginning to wish he’d just try and kill her – it would be easier. “You,” she snapped, “just let a _murderer, _a _serial killer_, free. That means you are either _malicious _or _incompetence_.”

“Incompetent,” Kihri _helpfully _corrected.

“Oh,” Remy laughed, “it’s definitely the, uh. Second one. Completence.”

Kihri snorted. “Never would have guessed.”

“Were you looking for Paose?” Zarah ground out.

“Who?”

“_Him_. The man you let get away.”

“Ohhhh. No, no, I just followed him here. I’m actually looking for, uh,” he pulled a scrap of paper out of his pocket, “‘Yanis Metzin.”

Because _of course_ he was.

“Wait, shoot, I wasn’t supposed to say that part.”


	13. Young Lion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we gain some perspective

The thing people never mentioned about skulking on rooftops was that it was _cold_. Cold and windy.

It was the second part that was _really _starting to get to Oraena Seston. 

“No no no,” they muttered around the cigarette between their lips, “come on, come on!” They were hunched over, back to the wind, cupping one hand around a disposable lighter and furiously clicking the striker with the other. Sparks sprayed off the thin wheel, but the gas steadfastly refused to ignite. 

Orae gave up with a frustrated sigh, tucking the lighter away but keeping the cigarette in their mouth. “Anything?” they asked.

Luce looked up at them from where she lay on the ground, panting happily. 

“Yeah, I figured.” They reached down and gave her a scratch behind the ears, the large mastiff leaning into the contact as her tail thumped soundlessly against the ground. 

Following the white-haired girl had been fairly easy, right up until she passed through into the backrooms of the morgue. Orae was confident they could’ve followed her in if it had been _absolutely _necessary, but it wasn’t – she’d have to leave at some point, and they could just resume the tail from there.

Unless she died, of course, in which case it was lucky she was already in the morgue, hm? They chuckled to themself, causing Luce to glance up curiously. “Nothing, girl,” they reassured the hound. “Just thought of something funny.”

Luce panted.

“It _was _funny, thank you very much.”

She licked her nose.

“You’d do well to remember who feeds you, lady.”

Back to panting.

“…you don’t need to eat. Well played.”

Satisfied with her victory, Luce began to lick her own genitals.

Orae went back to occupying themself with trying to light their cigarette, as the sun sank towards the horizon in the distance and the traffic on the street below grew thicker. 

It was supposed to be simple, they mused. Find Yanis Metzin. Make Yanis Metzin explain how to undo what she’d done. Kill Yanis Metzin. Find a place that served those _dhelas _they’d heard so much about. 

Instead, after nearly dying multiple times just trying to _get into _this bloody country, they’d found a series of false trails and dead ends, a _startling _amount of traps, and then, just when they finally thought they’d made progress, an empty office and a girl with white hair. 

And a hammer.

Orae could acknowledge, in hindsight, that they might have overreacted slightly. In their defense, it was a reasonable mistake to make, but they’d let their temper get the better of them. As had the girl, to add insult to injury. 

The girl. Seeing snow-white hair on people under the age of 40 was still strange to Orae, but they knew that was just unfamiliarity rather than anything inherent. 

No, whoever the girl was, her strangeness was all her own. During their first meeting, Orae had been too busy trying to, well, kill her, to notice anything in particular, but the process of tailing her since then had left them confused. Intrigued, even. 

The way she moved in quick, jerky little twitches, like she was trying to be as still as possible at all times. Her gaze, piercing and intense but strangely distant – like she was looking at the corpse a person would eventually become, rather than the flesh-and-blood in front of her. 

And, of course, the way she was constantly talking to thin air.

Orae had wondered at first if it was similar to what they had with Luce, but the theory didn’t hold water – they could see the girl’s shade, twisting bars of metal jutting in and out of her arms and shoulders. Whatever or whoever she was addressing, it wasn’t her shade (and even if it was, that would just confuse matters more). Between that, and the way that she had gone from placid to furious in an instant back at Aruspex, Orae found themself… _hesitant_. 

Orae wasn’t _afraid_. Of _course _they weren’t. They were just… weighing the factors more carefully than they otherwise would, that’s all. 

Luce barked at them softly.

“No, _you’re _afraid.”

The sun had fully set now, and Orae was considering whether or not to reposition, when a noise at the edge of hearing caught their attention. Something about the background noise had changed, something about the swell and ebb of the car engines and brakes and horns. Luce had noticed it too, her ears perking up and swivelling around as she lifted her head, turning to look down the street in the direction of the city centre. Orae followed her gaze as they stood, and within moments, the source of the disruption became clear. The cab of an eighteen-wheeler truck came skidding around a corner with a squeal of rubber and a chorus of horns, swiping a small sedan as it did. 

Luce growled, shooting to her feet, but she instantly subsided as Orae gestured for her to wait. “Not yet, girl.” They watched the cab as it sped down the street, staring intently at the interior. They didn’t recognise the man behind the wheel, but if Luce’s reaction hadn’t already, the self-satisfied grin on his face made it clear to Orae what they were dealing with.

And yet, they did nothing but wait, as the cab picked up speed, veered off the road, and smashed straight through the side of the morgue. 

They waited, as the dust settled. Waited as the noise of gunshots rang out from inside, as the muffled noises of conversation transitioned into those of violence. Waited, as sirens began to wail in the distance, waited as they drew closer, as the street below them cleared of cars and people. 

Waited, as a shockingly loud impact sounded out, the noise of something slamming into concrete at high speeds.

Whatever they had been waiting for, though, the man shooting straight up out of the building like he’d been fired from a cannon apparently wasn’t it. Orae staggered back, mouth agape, as they tracked his form until it disappeared into the sky.

“What.”

Orae probably would’ve remained like that, had Luce’s bark not startled them back to the present. “Thanks, girl,” they muttered, following her gaze to the large hole in the building. The girl was emerging from it, accompanied by a boy Orae didn’t recognise, but immediately mentally categorised as ‘Freckles’. The two of them weren’t fighting, but they clearly weren’t on good terms either – the girl’s stare was practically burning holes in Freckles’s back. He, on the other hand, seemed utterly unconcerned, talking incessantly and making wild gesticulations, and Orae felt a brief pang of sympathy for the girl. 

Only a brief one, though.

The arrival of the first emergency services vehicles seemed as good a cue as any. Orae gestured for Luce to follow as they turned away from the roof’s edge, moving parallel to the street, keeping pace slightly behind the girl. When they reached the end of one building, they leapt across to the next, as casually as if it were a crack in the sidewalk. Left behind, Luce’s form began to flicker and distort, then disappeared entirely as Orae landed, reappearing at their side. The hound seemed utterly unconcerned, trotting happily along her master, tongue lolling out one side of her mouth.

The two of them made a strange sight – if one were able to see Luce in the first place, of course. Luce was already a large dog, easily over two feet tall at the shoulder, and Orae’s diminutive stature made her appear even more so by comparison. In fact, they almost looked of a size to _ride _Luce, like the world’s only canine jouster – their waist was level with their dog’s ridged back, if not slightly lower. 

Of course, Luce being immaterial would provide additional complications. 

Freckles took the girl (and by extension, Luce and Orae) on a rambling, wandering trail through the city centre, doubling back on himself and getting lost multiple times. At first it frustrated Orae, as it obviously did the girl, but they began to wonder if it was intentional tradecraft – without Luce, they would have lost track of the pair multiple times even with their elevated position. Either way, they eventually stopped at a small hole in the wall, signless and hidden away in a back alley.

After a gesticulated back-and-forth, the two of them entered, and from their position at the top of one of the fire escapes, Orae frowned. Once again, foiled by humanity’s interminable insistence on enclosed buildings. They could just wait outside again, but whoever Freckles was, he seemed to be well-informed – well-informed and _powerful_. Unlike the morgue, _this _was worth the risk.

They hoped. 

It turned out to be a falafel shop, of all things. Just inside the entrance (which wasn’t so much a doorway as a literal hole in the brickwork), a foldout sign declared that you had just entered-

Orae did a double-take. No, they hadn’t been mistaken – the sign said, in an _atrocious _font, ‘Orgasmic Falafel’. 

“Well,” they muttered after a second, “I guess we know why there’s no sign, huh?”

…_Orgasmic Falafel _was a no-frills eatery – the furniture was plastic, the menus were laminated, and the man behind the counter looked as if his name was a monosyllable and he’d never made a meal with more than five ingredients in his life.

Orae immediately felt at home.

Despite, or perhaps because of, the decor and general aesthetic, the place was bustling – more than half of the tables were full, and the lively buzz of conversation filled the air. Orae glanced around, trying and failing to find the white-haired girl at any of the tables and starting to worry they’d made a mistake, until the line shuffling forward brought caught their attention, and they realised that the pair were waiting to order. Freckles muttered animatedly, talking with his hands as much as his words, while the girl perused a laminated menu, seemingly oblivious.

As casually as they could, Orae joined the line behind them, snagging a menu of their own. To avoid any possibility of recognition on the girl’s part, they’d done their best to improvise a casual appearance – hair let out of its buns to bounce in a rough sphere with their movements, shirt unbuttoned over a plain undershirt and rolled up to the sleeves. Tying the suit jacket around their waist did a passable job of concealing its formal nature, and as a final touch, they’d replaced their usual tinted glasses with a small, squarer pair. 

The different shape served to alter the lines of their face, and the faint red tint ensured that the colour of their acid-green eyes was dulled to something more average – they were easily Orae’s most distinctive feature, and it wouldn’t do to throw them away on a hasty disguise.

Pretending to peruse their menu, Orae focused in on the pair, tuning out the ambient noise. It wasn’t any kind of extraordinary ability, just something that they’d learned to do from a young age, and it had proven its worth many times over.

“…and it was weird,” Freckles was saying, “they didn’t like the robot dance, I guess? Or maybe they were just jealous. I know I would be, if I saw someone else busting out sweet dance moves that I didn’t know. But, you know, I think I’d just go up to them all cool-like and ask them to teach me, instead of shooting them.”

The girl’s head snapped up, as Orae controlled their own impulse to do the same. “…they shot you?”

“Well, shot _at_ me, really. Does it count as shooting someone if it doesn’t hurt them?”

“…yes.”

“Then, yeah, they shot me! _Really _rude.”

“…rude. Of course.”

Freckles beamed at her as the lined shuffled up again. “See, this is why I like you, Zarah! You _get _it.”

_Zarah, huh? Interesting_. It certainly wasn’t what Orae had been expecting; then again, there was no reason to assume it was real. Either way, it was better than ‘the girl’.

“…you just tried to kill me,” Zarah noted dryly. 

Freckles waved a hand. “It was an accident! I just, you know. Wanted to give you a little shove out of the way.”

“Your ‘‘little shove’, Remy, was buried me in solid concrete.”

And Remy as well. Perhaps Orae’s worries about tradescraft were unfounded – neither of them were exercising any right now, that much was sure. 

Their conversation was interrupted as they reached the front of the line, and went to order. Like seemingly everything else about him, Remy’s was nearly-incoherent and full of energy, while Zarah merely pointed to an item on the menu and specified no tomatoes. A crumpled wad of bills emerged from a pocket of Remy’s long grey coat to pay, and he flounced off to find a table without even waiting for the cashier to pick them up. Zarah waited, taking the change without a word and pocketing it. 

_Interesting, _Orae thought again. 

They were more familiar with kebab shops, but the menu was simple and the falafel smelt good, so Orae ordered and paid with a minimum of fuss, and within a minute was seated one table over from Zarah and Remy. 

“…that is,” Zarah was saying, as Orae listened back in. “East?”

“Ehh,” Remy said, “east-north-east-ish. Maybe. Ooh, do you know the Cetaren Forests? It’s sort of around there.”

Orae frowned, idly scrolling through their phone. The Ridgewoods were on the other side of the continent – if Remy was talking about where he was from, that was quite a ways to travel. It hadn’t exactly been a short jaunt from Brecht to Ostra, mind, but Orae hadn’t had to contend with the Cascades in their itinerary. Every new detail they learned about this situation made it seem stranger and stranger. 

“How about you?” Remy asked. “You’re from around here, right? I mean, I know you have the hair and all but I don’t want to assume and all.”

“…I am here from, yes.” Zarah’s eyes darted to the side for a second, irritation flickering across her face before the neutral mask reasserted itself. “…_from _here.”

Remy made a face, tongue sticking out. Orae had to admit, he _was _cute. “Brecht, right? _Awful _language.”

Zarah perked up, looking engaged for the first time Orae had seen. “_The worst _language. None of the rules are… are _rules_, they are just ‘sometimes you are doing this, sometimes you are doing that’ and there is no _reasons_, you just learn every one or nothing!”

“And the _sounds?! _What even is ‘th’? What is that?”

Zarah scoffed. “Forgetting ‘th’. The _real _one is the stupid ‘buh’ or ‘puh’ or _whatever._” She pronounced the two sounds exactly the same, and frowned. “‘Buh’ and ‘_puh_’. This is what I am saying!”

Remy laughed. “Hey, try saying ‘Peter Piper picked a peck of pickled peppers’.”

“Oh, sure.” Zarah cleared her throat. “Fuck you.”

_Note to self, _Orae thought as the two of them laughed. _Language jokes an easy way to get on her good side._

“Anyway, where were we?”

“Jenae, I think.”

_Jenae?!_

“Yeah!” Remy bobbed his head. “It’s _really _nice there, all like, grassy and shit? You’d probably like it! I mean, I don’t really know what you like but you seem cool, and it’s a cool place, so yeah!”

“…thank you. I think.”

“You’re welcome!”

_Gods, this is too fucking twee. _This Remy really was something else – it was like someone had aged up a prepubescent child and handed them enough power to ensure they’d never have to grow. Honestly, they mused, if the rumours about Jenae had any truth to them, that might be exactly what had happened. 

The arrival of their food, and Orae’s shortly after, put the conversation on hold, and for a few minutes, neither of them spoke as they focused on their food. Remy ate with the messy enthusiasm of a child, but Zarah’s speed was more focused, efficient, containing an almost single-minded intensity as she consumed a platter meant for sharing. Given what Orae had gleaned of her living situation, it was utterly unsurprising, but interesting to watch all the same.

Interesting, and… not sad, exactly, but something of the same genus. 

They picked at their food as they thought and waited, mentally collating and categorising. While not quite ‘orgasmic’, the falafels were _excellent_, and Orae resolved to return on their own time, if at all possible. The garlic sauce in particular was a revelation – Tem would have _hated _it, and then Orae caught themself just in time before following that particular spiral down. 

After a few more minutes, Zarah finished her food, and excused herself to the bathroom, moving quietly and quickly. Orae busied themself with their notes, better to appear innocuous, but all that achieved was making the surprise even greater when a hand landed on their shoulder, holding them in place with a grip like iron.

Orae twisted around as much as they were able, and found Zarah staring down at them, expression cold and unreadable.

“You.”

_Don’t panic. _Don’t. _This is still salvageable. _Luce had risen to her feet at their side, growling a growl inaudible to all but Orae, but a quick, small gesture had her backing off. Orae met Zarah’s eyes (green like moss), and let their natural shock seep through onto their face.

“I’m sorry,” they said, letting their natural accent seep back in. “Do I know you?”

Zarah tilted her head at them, then glanced off to the side. “Aruspex,” she said curtly. “The hound, thirty-eighth floor. Need I continue?”

“Zarah?” Orae glanced back over to see Remy standing, approaching them with a befuddled expression. “What’s happening?”

“This,” Zarah said coolly, “is another like you. Looking for the Metzin woman.”

Orae considered denying it, but that particular ruse didn’t seem to have much left in it. “‘Like him’ seems to be a stretch,” they replied instead, returning to their usual accent and voice. “From what I’ve gathered, at any rate.”

Zarah’s face remained still, but there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes. “Perhaps, perhaps not.”

“Oh, you’re looking for Metzin too?” Remy jumped in with what Orae had by now identified as a characteristic lack of tact or grace. “Great, me too! I’m Remy, Remy Auclair!”

“I’m aware,” Orae replied mildly, ignoring the proffered hand. To Zarah, “Would you care to sit? Not causing a scene would be ideal.”

“Are you going to setting your hound on me again?”

“Like I said, not causing a scene would be ideal.”

Zarah seemed to accept that, and released her grip on Orae’s shoulder before taking the seat opposite them. Unprompted, Remy dragged a chair over from another table and sat backwards on it, arms crossed over the back.

“I should apologise for that,” Orae started. “Attacking you, I mean.” The jig was up, so they began the process of dismantling their disguise – corralling their hair back into its buns, switching glasses behind a raised hand, buttoning their shirt back up. “It was an embarrassing loss of control on my part.”

“They attacked you?” Remy asked curiously, then glanced over at Orae. “Uh, I mean- they? He?”

_Huh. _The Jena boy continued to surprise. “They, thank you.”

“Dope. He for me, please and thank you! Oh, uh, Zarah, sorry, I think I forgot to ask and have maybe been kind of using she? Is that cool, or…” She nodded confirmation. “_Awesome_. So, uh. They attacked you?”

Zarah’s expression was inscrutable. “Water under the boat,” she said to Orae. “You hit me, I hit you, we both heal. The slate is clean, as far as I see.”

Orae inclined their head in acknowledgement. “Admirably clear-sighted of you.”

“You talk like a news anchor,” Remy noted idly, and Zarah let out a noise that Orae could only assume was the closest she came to laughing, a harsh, coughing bark, gone as quickly as it came. 

“You talk like a child,” Orae replied coldly.

Remy giggled, seemingly entirely unoffended.

“I um aware,” Zarah said, and it took Orae a second to realise she was quoting their early words. Not ‘I um’, but an attempt at ‘I’m’. “How so?”

“Good ears.” They allowed the corner of their mouth to quirk upwards. “In my defense, neither of you were being particularly quiet.”

“Hm. You know mine as well, then?”

“Ah, yes, I suppose I do have you at something of a disadvantage.” Orae hesitated, then took a calculated risk. “You can call me Orae.”

Hopefully, the phrasing would lead them to consider it a pseudonym – which it was, in a sense. Just not in the sense that mattered.

“Hi, Callmeorae!” Remy said cheerfully, provoking an eyeroll from Zarah. “What? What’d I say?”

“Just- Just Orae. And,” they added quickly, seeing Remy’s mouth open, “if you call me ‘Just Orae’, I won’t be held responsible for my actions.”

“Okay, ‘Orae’.” The light touch Zarah put on the name told them their ruse had at been at least somewhat successful. “First things happening first; I presume you were following me, and not Remy?”

Orae inclined their head, seeing no reason to deny it. “Just so.”

Zarah matched their gesture with one of her own, to precisely the same angle. It didn’t seem conscious, but Orae found themself unnerved all the same. “And you are not attacking me now, or at any point since. Why?”

Orae sighed. “As I said, I regret my actions. I was… overcome, you might say.”

Zarah said nothing, but Remy let out a little snort. “So I guess you could say you… saw red?” 

Orae and Zarah both stared at him, and he withered under their combined glares. 

“The hammer, then.” Zarah’s voice was quiet, and Orae nodded in confirmation.

“I think it’s safe to say you had no hand in its creation, no? Or in any of the… actions it was utilised in?”

“No. It was… I found it, abandoned.” 

As Zarah went on to describe the scene she’d witnessed at the paper station, Orae found their thoughts growing cold, becoming still and icy and disconnected. _Your fault, Oraena. Your failure. Your cowardice. _The visualisation of her story twisted and distorted, changing into scenes from their past, phantom voices rising in their ears to drown out Zarah’s, the-

“Uh, Orae?” Remy’s voice cut through the visions, snapping them back to the present. “You, uh. You good, bud?”

“Why would I not be,” Orae snapped.

As one, he and Zarah glanced down at the edge of the table, where their hand was clenching hard enough to distort the metal. 

“Ah.” They forced themself to relax, pulling the hand away. “My apologies. Please, continue.”

“Or maybe don’t?” Remy said. “I mean, if you’re gonna start wrecking shit again…”

“I won’t,” they said flatly.

“Done anyway,” Zarah cut in. “You, I am guessing, have similar experiences.”

“Experience, singular,” Orae forced themself to say. “More than enough.”

“Eh,” Remy said casually, leaning back in his chair. “I’ve seen worse.”

The corner of Zarah’s mouth flickered downwards. “Bravado.”

“No, I’m being serious. You ever seen someone get beaten to death with their own skull?”

The question hung in the air for a moment.

“That seems…” Orae said, “logistically improbable.”

“Ha, yeah. That’s what he was yelling.”

Zarah and Orae exchanged a silent glance, and mutually agreed to pretend they’d heard nothing. 

“So,” Orae said. “I admit to being curious as to how you got from… _there_, to the Aruspex building.”

Zarah stiffened, and they immediately knew they’d hit on something. “…some documents,” the girl said, eyes flicking off to the side momentarily. “At the power plant, bore her name.”

_Lie. _A plausible lie, but a lie all the same.

It served as a helpful reminder that, despite their seemingly-aligned goals, the girl couldn’t be trusted. Remy either, but they hadn’t been particularly inclined to trust him in the first place.

“I see,” Orae said. It seemed safest. “I know the rest, of course. Admittedly, I am somewhat curious as to how you found the Hafton cache-” she reacted almost imperceptibly – _related to the lie, then_, “-but I suppose that isn’t really so important, as much as where it led you next.”

As one, they both glanced at Remy. 

“What?” he asked. “Is there something on my face?”

Zarah’s eyes twitched. “We’ve both shared our side of things,” Orae cut in smoothly. “It seems only fair that you do the same.”

“Oh, sure, okay. You’re _sure _there’s nothing on my face, though?”

“_Positive._”

“Hm.” Remy shrugged, then passed a hand over his mouth anyway. “Okay so the thing is, I’m like, not supposed to talk about some of this stuff? So you’ll have to tell me if I say something I’m not supposed to.”

“We…” Zarah said slowly, “tell you when you say something we aren’t supposed to know.”

“Yeah, exactly!”

“…but if we know what it is, then we already… know what it is.”

“…_oh._” Remy’s face fell. “Oh, shoot-darn. Um, okay. Just uh… hm.” He seemed genuinely discombobulated. “Man, I _really_ don’t want to have to kill you guys!”

Orae started to make a comment about his confidence, remembered the man flying off into the stratosphere, and reconsidered. 

“If you say anything,” Zarah said, completely po-faced, “we promise not to tell.”

“Oh, perfect! Thanks _so _much.”

Orae wasn’t sure if it was less scary, knowing the boy was this naive, or even _more _so. No, scratch that – it was _definitely _much more scary.

“So,” Remy started, “basically the folks back at home got kinda PO-ed at me, _again, _but this time even more so than normal cause I ‘destroyed a sacred vineyard’ or whatever, except this time instead of just, y’know, throwing me in The Pit like normal, they’re like ‘ooh Remembrance we have a _special _mission for you!’. They always call me Remembrance, it’s like- weird, but nice? You know?” 

Orae already had _so many _questions.

“Next thing I know, I’m on a float out of Jenae with an itinerary and the name Yanis Metzin. Apparently, she’s like- got something? Or knows something? Or- something? And she’s not supposed to, so I’m supposed to find her and, you know. Make her un-know it.”

“You can do that?” Zarah asked.

“Oh, no, I was just- I’m supposed to kill her. I just… I thought that was like a funny way of phrasing it.”

Considering his level of eloquence up to this point, Orae actually thought it was a fairly decent effort. “They just… set you loose?” The question of who ‘they’ was could be addressed later. 

“Well, kinda? Like…” he scratched the back of his head awkwardly. “I mean, uh, don’t mention this if anyone like official asks, but they don’t really… _like _me?”

Zarah coughed.

“Official like who?” Orae asked.

Remy shrugged. “You know. Official. The Chival or whatever. Uh, anyone from Kallus too. And Sessate? I mean, do they even have Sessate here? Really, just like, anyone who’s… anyone, I guess.”

Orae knew about Kallus of course, but not much more about the other two than recognition of the names. Something to research – once they were out of this country and away from its irritating censorship. “So this was just an excuse to get rid of you, then,” they surmised. 

Remy looked as down as Orae had seen him yet. “…I think so, yeah.”

“Why do you not just… leave?” Zarah asked.

“I… did?”

“No, as in…” she gestured vaguely. “Leave _them_. Whoever them is.”

“The Tenebrate,” Remy supplied helpfully, but Orae saw no recognition in the girl’s eyes.

“Fine, yes, whoever. If you are not wanted-” Remy winced at that, “-and you are not _there, _are you not free?”

“…that’s kind of a big question, Zarah,” the boy said quietly. “I mean, they’re still- it’s still-” he waved his hands incoherently, then said something in a language Orae didn’t recognise, one that sounded _wet_ and vaguely throaty. “It’s complicated,” he finished in Brechtin.

“Mm. I suppose I understand. Not the language,” she hastily clarified, “but… the sentimental. The sentiment. It is your home.”

“_Yeah_,” Remy breathed, eyes widening as if she’d said something profound. “Yeah, that’s… yeah.”

_Simpleton, _Orae managed to refrain from saying. “Did you have a way of tracking Metzin?” they asked, steering the conversation back on track. 

“Oh, nah.” Remy waved a hand dismissively. “I knew she was in Ostra, and then I was just gonna Find her, you know?”

Zarah blinked at him. “How did you do that.”

“What, Finding?”

“Y- _no, _how did you do _that_. Say it like that, like,” she scrunched up her face, “finding.”

“What, Find?”

“_Yes!_”

“I’m just… saying it.”

“No, you are-” she cut herself off with a growl, muttering under her breath. “Not important. What is that?”

“What, Finding? You don’t know?”

“Why would I have asked,” Zarah ground out, “if I knew.”

“Rhetortical question?”

“Even _I _know it is ‘rhetorical’, you-“

Orae snapped their fingers, cutting her off. “Remy,” they said, “to clarify; you are saying you have a way of locating Metzin?”

Remy groaned. “Ugh, _no. _That’s the whole problem! She’s like, cloaked or something! And it’s not just me, cause I’m a _really _good Finder.” Zarah raised an eyebrow. “Hey, I found you, didn’t I?”

Displays of surprising competence _did _seem to be his forte, Orae mused. 

“Metzin is cloaked,” Zarah repeated, and Remy nodded in confirmation. “Just her?”

“Yeah, it’s really weird. I’ve never seen it before, but I guess I haven’t really had to use it much outside of home, y’know?”

Zarah leaned forward, rattling the table slightly, eyes alight with something that sent a shiver down Orae’s spine. “What about the man, from earlier tonight?” The impromptu low-atmosphere explorer, Orae guessed.

Remy blinked, then his eyes unfocused for a second. “Oh, uh- huh. _That’s _new.”

Zarah sighed. “Let me guessing. The same?”

“No-o,” Remy said slowly, “that’s what’s weird. I can _sort of _Find him, but also- not? I know he’s like. Around? But can’t get more specific than that.”

Orae was torn between the desire to ask for more information and the need to avoid revealing their own lack of knowledge.

“Could it be from interaction with Metzin?” they asked instead. “Her effect, bleeding over to some degree with proximity?”

Remy shrugged. “I guess? Like I said, this is two firsts for me. So, like, a second, I guess? Cause a first plus a first-”

Zarah interrupted him. “He is in the city, though?”

“Yeah, or like. Near enough?”

“Then I think the obvious course of action is clear,” Orae said. “We all have a common goal, and no seeming conflict of interest. If we assist one another, the situation can be resolved with as little fuss as possible.”

Remy’s eyes widened. “Team-up? Oh, sign me up! You in, Zarah?”

“No, thank you,” Zarah said.


	14. Three Might Be Duende

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which things don’t go as expected and paths diverge

Orae and Remy stared at her.

“…pardon?” Orae asked after a moment.

“No, thank you,” Zarah repeated calmly. She forced herself to meet both their eyes (or Orae’s glasses, at least), and gave a curt nod. “Thank you for the information. You,” she added to Orae specifically, “stop following me.”

“No ‘or else’?” they asked, still sounding slightly off-balance.

Zarah shrugged one shoulder. “You seem smart.”

She’d been tuning out Kihri’s growing laughter, but now it was transitioning into more of a manic scream, as she floated past with her hands covering her face. “Oh _saints,_” she laugh-screamed. “Really, I should’ve seen it coming! Fuck me, I guess!”

Zarah ignored her with practised ease.

“Wait, what is that supposed to mean?” Remy asked. “You think I’m _not _smart?”

_Yes. _“No.”

“What she means,” Orae cut in, staring her down, “is that she trusts in my ability to extrapolate the consequences.”

Zarah inclined her head, the same way they’d done before. “As I said. You seem smart.” To Remy, she added, “You. Do not get in my way again.”

She went to stand, but Orae’s hand on her arm stopped her. “Zarah,” they said quietly. “This seems unwise.”

“Remove your hand,” she ground out, “before I do.”

They pulled away, but didn’t break eye contact. _Glasses contact, whatever. _“Zarah,” they repeated, “You _also _seem smart.”

“Oh, so it’s just me, huh?” Remy grumbled.

“You _know_ what this means.”

“I don’t!” Remy cut in. “I don’t know what it means!”

Calmly, Zarah pulled her sling on, and then her backpack. “I am perfectly aware, thank you.”

“_Oh yeah, sure!” _Kihri cackled into the void. “Master of rational decision-making, _that’s you alright!” _The noise she made started out as a manic laugh but quickly descended into more of a primal scream. “_Objective _and _unbiased!”_

“Quiet,” Zarah snapped at her before she could stop herself. 

Remy opened his mouth, but Orae waved him down. “Remy,” they said, not looking away, “think it through. We all appear to have the same goal, no? The same goal, and seemingly no conflict with one another.”

“Well, you _did _say you attacked her.”

“So then,” Orae continued, ignoring him, “what does it say if Zarah is nevertheless unwilling to co-operate?”

Remy and Kihri both answered at the same time, and their voices muddled together too much for Zarah to distinguish either. Kihri had sworn, and Remy had maybe said the word ‘shy’? It didn’t actually matter.

“It  _ says _ ,” Orae said, unaware of the crosstalk, “that her goals must in some way conflict with ours.”

“Or,” Zarah snapped, “that I just do not want to work with you.”

“We can’t afford to assume that.”

Remy frowned. “Really not a fan of this whole ‘we’ thing, my dude.”

“Not your dude,” Orae said. “But fine. Make your own decisions if you like. My point, to  _ her _ , is that if you walk out now,  _ I  _ at the very least will have to consider you a threat the next time we meet.”

Zarah rolled her eyes. “You are paranoid.”

“I am  _ right _ ,” Orae snapped. “It’s not paranoia when there  _ are  _ conspiracies, when they  _ are  _ out to get you.”

“Who’s ‘they’?” Remy asked. 

“The Shadow Men,” Kihri answered, unheard, from under the table.

“It seems to  _ me _ ,” Zarah said, staring Orae down, “that  _ you  _ are just looking for excuses to fight me again.”

Orae shifted slightly, as if caught off-guard. “... _ why _ would I want that?”

“Hurt pride? Whyever you attack me in the first place?” Zarah shrugged. “Here is the dealing: you leave me alone, and I will do the same.”

“Hey, y’all?”

“That’s  _ not  _ acceptable,” Orae hissed.

“Oh, because it is your choice?”

“Hey? Guys?”

“Not a guy,” they both snapped simultaneously, without looking away.

“Right, sorry. But could we maybe… take this somewhere else?”

Belatedly, Zarah realised that the restaurant had gone quiet, and every single eye was on them. 

“Or, you know,” Remy said, “keep going, if you like!”

The worst part was that he actually sounded sincere. 

* * *

It never said good things about a person, Zarah decided, when they looked in their element while skulking on a rooftop.

Orae had led them up a fire escape, not brooking any discussion or debate, and Zarah had decided it wasn’t worth it. She had  _ decided,  _ in fact, to take the opportunity to leave, and yet, for reasons she couldn’t articulate, here she was. 

Remy had immediately hopped up on a vent, kicking his legs like a child, while Zarah had chosen to stand - she could feel a crash coming on, and staying on her feet would help ward it off. Orae, on the other hand, had actually sat on the ground, back against another vent, suit jacket draped neatly over the top. Their hand stroked rhythmically over empty air, petting their invisible, intangible hound.

“This is stupid,” Remy said, breaking the silence. “Like, this is really stupid, right? It’s not just me?”

“It’s not  _ just  _ you,” Orae muttered, and Zarah worked to suppress her smirk.

“Like,” Remy continued, unaware, “it’s like you two  _ want  _ to fight, or something? No trust at all!”

Zarah looked at him, “...we are  _ strangers _ , Remy. Both of you have attacked me. Trust is not exactly the normal.”

“...it isn’t?”

“Sounded more like  _ you  _ attacked  _ him, _ ” Orae said with a sneer.

She matched it with her own. “Oh? Did I attacked  _ you? _ ”

Orae broke eye contact first.

“See, this is what I’m talking about!” Remy yelled. “Snip snip snip snip snip, just constantly!”

“You know,” Kihri commented from where she floated, circling lazily above them, “I like him. He’s stupid and naive, but it’s kinda charming.” She seemed to have calmed down some, but Zarah knew she hadn’t escaped the argument, only delayed it. 

Remy sighed. “Can’t you just… be _nice?”_

Zarah had no words. 

“Hey,” Kihri commented snidely, “it’s a decent question. _Can _you just be nice, Zarah? Do you even know what it means?”

“<Like you’re one to talk,>” Zarah snapped. 

“…did that mean ‘you’re so right and also smart, Remy’? Cause I’m gonna assume that’s what you meant.”

She shot him a withering glare.

“_Nice_,” Orae said in a similar tone, “is perfectly fine, Remy, but not when it comes at the cost of safety and prudence.”

Remy frowned. “You know Prudence?”

“…what?”

“You just said ‘at the cost of safety and Prudence’. Why is she in danger?”

Zarah rubbed at her temples. “Orae, Remy thinks you have said a name. Remy, ‘prudence’ is a word on its own, Orae is not referring to the person you know.”

“Ohhhhh.” Remy looked like she’d told him the secret to eternal life.

Orae looked like she’d told them that the sky was green. “_As I was saying_, you are _painfully _naive, Remy. Frankly, I’m amazed you’ve survived this long, acting like you have.”

The boy in question rolled his eyes and stuck out his tongue. “It’s not naive to want people to be nice.”

“Then I envy you the life that has let you believe that.”

“Huh,” Kihri said. “That was a pretty metal line, hornet. Respect.”

“Alright, fine!” Remy huffed, hopping down onto the ground. “I really didn’t want to have to do this, but you’ve left me no choice.” He pointed dramatically at Zarah, and then at Orae. “Both of you… get along!”

His words hung in the air for a second.

“…no?” Zarah said.

“No,” Orae confirmed. “Were we… supposed to not be able to say that?”

“Uh, _yeah_,” Remy said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Or, wait, shit. I forgot a bit, sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Get along, _or else._”

Zarah flinched, eyes going wide. Remy hadn’t moved, hadn’t changed his posture or bearing in the slightest – he still slouched easily with his hands in his pockets, stance slack and loose. But _something _had changed, because it suddenly felt like she was being crushed by an overwhelming, unrelenting _pressure_, like she was suddenly standing at the bottom of the ocean, untold masses of water pressing down on her from above. 

She staggered, dropping to one knee, struggling to keep her neck from bowing. Orae had already been sitting, but she could see their arms, ramrod straight, straining to keep their torso upright. 

_What is this- this power?!_

So,” Remy started to say, but a growl from Orae cut him off. No- not from _Orae_, but from the faint glimmer of red in the air in front of them where red plates of armour were beginning to form. Now, though, Zarah could see something _inside, _a familiar red-but-not-

Then, like before in the morgue, her vision seemed to snap into focus, and she could see it clearly.

It was… a dog. Zarah wasn’t an expert in dogs, had never really interacted with them much, but there didn’t seem to be anything particularly special about it. Well, it _was _quite large, but as far as she was the standard for ‘proper’ dogs, as opposed to the little ones with all the health issues.

It was one of the slobbery breeds, with the big drooping jowls that were currently drawn back over bared teeth. The growl had come into ‘focus’ as well, and was now loud and vicious enough to send a shiver of something primal down Zarah’s spine. Echoes of something that had echoed through the trees long ago, something that people had learned to fear. Had been _taught _to fear.

The hound didn’t seem unaffected by the pressure, but it was handling it better than either of the humans – bowed but not bent, and still able to move. Which it did, as Orae managed to give a weak whistle, charging forward directly at Remy. Now that she could see it in truth, and not just the armour hanging off of it, its movements were easier to parse, her brain not being forced to extrapolate its gait. It certainly seemed to move like a real dog, paws pounding against the concrete, legs coiling before launching it through the air at Remy.

“Whoa, hey!” To Zarah’s surprise, the boy in question darted back, looking alarmed. It was subtle, but the pressure on her lessened as he did – just slightly, but noticeable all the same. For a second, she thought Remy was actually worried about the hound – until he shrugged off his grey coat and tossed it over one of the vents. “You almost got my jacket! I _like _this jacket.”

It _was _quite nice.

“Hey, Orae?” Remy continued, now back to being unperturbed. “Can you, uh, not? I really don’t want to hurt your dog.” Without the coat, he was left in a thin, grey tank-top that seemed entirely inappropriate for the chill, with some kind of tight, brightly-coloured undershirt poking out at the edges. He was fit, unsurprisingly, but he also had a _terrible _t-shirt tan, halfway down his biceps, and despite their situation Zarah heard Orae snort in amusement.

“I fell asleep on a truck, okay?!” Remy said, embarrassed.

Whatever he was about to say next got cut off by the hound leaping at him again with a snarl. This time, though, he didn’t dodge; in an instant, his hand shot up and caught the dog by one of the plates on its armour, holding it effortlessly in mid-air. It continued to snarl at him, paws flailing at his bare arm, but the clawed tips of its armour slid over the skin without even leaving a depression, like it was made of marble.

“Seriously, Orae,” Remy said, “I _really _don’t want to hurt it.”

“Then _don’t._”

Remy grinned awkwardly. “I mean, _yeah_, but it’s kind of… attacking me?” He held the dog up a bit further, adjusting his view. “_She’_s kind of attacking me.”

“_You _are attacking _us_.”

“No I’m not!” He seemed to realise for the first time that both of them were on the ground, and grimaced. “Oh, uh. Whoops.”

Immediately, the pressure lessened – Zarah still couldn’t stand, but it no longer felt like she was being crushed against the ground. She was able to glance up now, and could tell from the shell-shocked look on her sister’s face that she had been experiencing it too.

“Sorry about that,” Remy said sheepishly. “You guys are like- _really _weak, though. Like, _Really _weak. You should train more.” The hound snapped at him, and he leant back out of the way. “Orae, please?”

Orae sighed, then gave another whistle, and the dog immediately calmed.

“There we go!” Surprisingly gently, Remy placed her back on the ground, where she immediately turned and ran back to her master. “So, like I was saying,” Remy went on, “that’s enough of that, right?”

“You’re goddamn fucking right.” The sound of gun cocking turned Zarah’s spine to ice, and the only thing stopping her from bolting like an animal was the physical inability to do so. In the corner of her vision, a figure stepped out from the door to the stairwell, and Zarah’s brain finally made the connection. It was Guster – the so-called detective with the eyepatch – from the morgue. She’d abandoned her suit jacket and tie, and the formerly-crisp shirt was stained with dust and blood. Her hair had come loose from its bun, and hung haphazardly over her face. Her hands on the- her hands were steady, but her eyes were slightly unsteady, her breathing ragged.

More importantly, though, she seemed completely unaffected by whatever Remy was doing.

“Under the authority of the Ostran government,” she said, voice hoarse but firm, “you are all under arrest. Stand down and you will not be harmed.”

Someone began to laugh. Zarah thought it was Remy for a moment, it would certainly be in-character for him, but it was too harsh, too cold.

“You know,” Orae said in between chuckles, “I’m really starting to _hate _this fucking country.”

_…you have no idea._

The detective spun on Orae. “Shut up,” she snapped harshly. “All of you, get down on the ground and put your hands behind your head.”

“Uh…” Remy said. “No? Yeah, no.”

Orae’s laughter redoubled.

“What’s so funny?” Guster snapped at them.

“Do it,” they wheezed. “Shoot. I dare you.”

“Fine,” Guster said, and shot them.

“..rah? Hey, are you… like, there?”

Zarah slowly returned to herself, and found Remy crouched down in front of her, red-brown eyes wide with worry.

She blinked slowly, and his face immediately sagged with relief. “Oh good, I thought you- uh, _broke_, or something.”

“…are they okay?” she rasped.

Remy winced. “Shit, maybe you _did _break.”

_What… _Oh, she’d spoken in Pashtari. With an effort, she forced her brain back into motion and asked again in Brechtin.

The tension left Remy in an instant. “Oh _good. _Who do you mean, Orae? They’re fine, don’t worry.” He gestured vaguely off to the side, but Zarah couldn’t be bothered to move her head and look. “I put them over there, but they’re taking _ages _to heal. I mean, it was only a couple of bullets, jeez. Handgun bullets!”

Something in that sentence snagged in her brain. “…’couple of’?” she asked once she’d finally placed it.

“Ugh, yeah. That detective lady is _quick_. For a civilian, I mean.”

“Did you kill her?” Zarah asked, emotionless.

Remy laughed. “Oh _boy, _I hope not! That would be _embarrassing_. No, she’s, uh. Also over there.” ‘There’ being the same direction he’d gestured before. “She had some cuffs, don’t worry, plus I knocked her out but that only lasts like a minute unless something’s gone seriously wrong and she has brain damage so she’ll be up in a bit probably and I can do it again but like normal people are so _squishy _and I think that’ll hurt her too-” He sucked in a huge breath. “Anyway,” he continued at a more normal pace, “don’t worry, she’s fine. Uh, unless you _wanted _her dead? I mean, I can go do that real quick if you want, no biggie.”

Zarah didn’t care one way or the other. Which, she belatedly realised, was probably not a good sign. She lifted her thumb to her mouth and bit down on it as hard as she could, focusing on the pain, forcing herself to remember she was in a physical body. It… didn’t _fix it_, exactly, she still felt hollowed out and distant, but it kept her tethered. Even if Kihri would scream at her for it later.

“Alive is good,” she said at last. Remy seemed a little uncomfortable, but nodded. “Help me up?”

As Remy pulled her effortlessly to her feet, Zarah noticed that his skin was ice cold.

Sure enough, Orae and Guster together, slumped back against the side of the stairwell door. Guster looked if not unharmed, then no more so than she’d been before. Orae’s white shirt was stained through with multiple patches of dark, wet crimson, from four or five separate points if Zarah had to guess. Their dog lay nervously with its head on their lap, but they were breathing, heavy and ragged and growing less so with every passing second.

“Hey.” Zarah glanced over to see her sister, face unusually serious. “You back?”

Zarah half-shrugged. _Sort of._

“Fuckin… better than nothing, I guess. We need to have a _chat_, Z.”

“Later,” she snapped.

“No, _not _later, you’re just fucking-”

“Hey-ey,” Remy cut in. “No judgement or anything, but who are you talking to? You, uh. You know no one else can see them, right?”

Zarah went to blow him off, and found she just couldn’t be bothered. “My sister,” she said. “Ghost.”

Remy nodded. “Cool. Sup, Zarah’s dead sister.”

Kihri stared at him. “…sure. Why not. Sup, weirdo.”

“Kihri says ‘hello’,” Zarah relayed tiredly.

“No, I said _sup_.”

The only thing keeping Zarah from rolling her eyes is that it was too much effort. “…she also says that it is ‘sup’, not hello.”

Remy looked at her for a second. “You’ve… got a lot going on, huh.”

She shrugged non-committally. “Will you stop me leaving if I am trying?”

He waved a hand. “Nah, s’cool. That was more Orae, you’re good. Just, like- don’t _actually _turn out to be a secret asshole, yeah? Because _boy, _will I look stupid!” He laughed, then immediately sobered. “You’re… not actually a secret asshole, right?”

His gaze was uncomfortably intense. “…no.”

“Nothing secret about it,” Kihri added.

“Oh, _good.” _He beamed, and gave her a little wave as if to send her off. “Don’t be a stranger, then!”

Zarah had already turned and begun to walk towards the fire escape. “Tell Orae,” she said over her shoulder, “that I will not start anythings, but I _will _end them.”

She heard Remy sigh. “Dangit, you were doing so well.”


	15. Intermission

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the stage is set and ripples spread

### III

“You did _what_?!”

Remy glanced over at Orae, confused. “Uh, I let Zarah go? Did you not hear me, or-”

“I _heard_ you,” Orae spat. “I’m just having a _bit _of trouble comprehending why you’d do something so _stupid_.”

_Didn’t you call me dumb earlier? _“I don’t see what the big deal is, Orae. She’s just like, shy! And also probably traumatised maybe, but like, get in line, right!”

The wind whistled past them.

“…okay,” Remy admitted, “that was better in my head. Still though! You _were _kinda being a dick to her. Slash in general.”

“I was _not-_” Orae bit back the rest of the sentence. “That is a misrepresentation.”

Their dog made a _chuffing _noise, and Remy looked down to see it looking up at him, tongue lolling out to one side. If Remy didn’t know better, he’d almost think it could understand them.

Wait. He _didn’t _know better. “Can your dog understand us?”

Orae blinked at the sudden change in topic. “I… well, yes. Somewhat.”

The dog barked. Remy didn’t know much about dogs, but it seemed fairly happy.

“Luce,” Orae hissed.

Luce barked again, louder.

“How _dare _you.”

Remy reached down and scratched the dog behind the ear. “I don’t know what you’re saying,” he said with a grin, “but I endorse it.”

“Shut- both of you, just shut up.”

Luce barked again, and Remy imitated it, grinning up at Orae. “How was my pronunciation?” he asked.

“Terrible,” Orae said, contradicting Luce’s satisfied _whuff_. “You traitor,” they added, addressing the dog.

A muggy groan from off to the side interrupted them, and Remy quickly stood, striding over to where the detective lady was beginning to come around to consciousness.

“Is she alive?” Orae asked as he bent down and checked her pulse. They didn’t seem particularly concerned, which Remy thought was a bit cold. It was only a few gunshot wounds, jeez.

“Oh, yeah, she’s fine,” he confirmed, feeling the steady beat under his finger. “It was-”

Remy was actually very impressed with the detective lady’s persistence. Her head whipped forward to smack into his, and her free hand shot forward and up with a glint of metal. Presumably, the intended execution would have involved stunning him for long enough for her to go to work with the knife she’d stabbed into his gut. Quick, efficient, and brutal.

Remy liked her already.

“Darn,” he said, as she reeled backwards in pain, “I like your moxie!” She glanced down, and her eyes widened as she realised the knife had utterly failed to even scratch him. “The results might not be good, but A+ for effort!”

“Honestly,” Orae remarked, “why exactly did you expect that to work where a _gun_ hadn’t?”

The detective looked up, eyes filled with anger and fear. “What _are _you_?_” she hissed shakily.

Remy frowned. “That’s not very nice. I thought this was a _progressive _country.”

“Why on earth would you think that?” Orae asked dryly.

Guster mostly just looked confused.

“_Well_,” Remy huffed, “for future reference, referring to a person as a _what _is dehumanising and rude, _especially _if they’re trans.”

The woman blinked. “…I wasn’t _talking _about that,” she said slowly. “I was _talking _about the fact that you’re an _invincible corpse.”_

“She’s got you there,” Orae said.

“Oh,” Remy said. “Well, then. That’s calcified.”

“Classified.”

“That’s _classified._”

“Just kill me already,” Guster spat.

“Amen,” Orae muttered.

Remy thought for a second. Zarah hadn’t seen particularly bothered by the idea of killing her, but she had also said that alive was better. Remy Auclair was many things, but above all else he was someone who would never make a decision when he had the option of _not_ doing that.

“Nah,” he said casually, and Guster’s eyes widened in shock. “Anyway, see you round!”

“Wh-” the woman spluttered, as he stood back up and ambled away. “Hey! You can’t just- you’ve assaulted a representative of the Ostran government!”

“Has he?” Orae said. “Who?”

“Uh,” Remy said, “her? I thought that was obvious. Wait, _was _it someone else?”

“…it was a _joke_, Remy,” Orae sighed.

“Ohhhh. I don’t get it.”

“I’d gathered, yes.”

Guster made a sound somewhere between a snort and a scream. “You’re both _insane_, aren’t you?”

Remy grinned. “Sane, insane; I’m the guy with the gun.”

“You don’t _have _a gun.”

“Oh yeah?” He flexed.

“That was pathetic,” Orae said flatly.

“Oh good,” Guster said. “I thought I was going to die of dehydration, but turns out listening to you is going to do it first.”

Remy snapped his fingers. “_Oh! _I _knew _I was forgetting something! Ugh, I always forget humans need to eat and drink and stuff.”

“You _don’t?!_” Guster demanded.

“I’m sorry,” Orae said icily, “‘humans’?”

“Ooh, right. Word doesn’t translate, uh- normal? People? I’m not an alien.”

“You don’t need to _eat?!_”

“Look,” Remy said, “‘need’ is a very complicated word.”

Orae cut him off with a sharp hand gesture and a _hst_ noise. “Leaving her here like this is as good as killing her, just more painfully.”

“Oh.” Remy frowned. “Guess we’re killing her after all, then.” He stepped towards her, but Orae made a noise like they were choking and put themself between him and Guster. “Just-! Just wait, alright? Ma’am, do you have a phone?”

Remy flinched a little, before realising they were talking to Guster, not him. “…why?” she replied slowly.

Orae sighed. “Do you _want _me to let him kill you?”

“…left pocket.”

Orae raised an eyebrow at Remy, and he shrugged. _Might as well see where this is going. _They retrieved the phone, then stood back up and held out their other hand, brow furrowing in concentration.

Their corona flared, blacklight casting the rooftop in strange, ethereal shadows, and very, _very_ slowly, a flat plane of red ghostlight began to form. Remy thought it was a bit weird, considering how quickly they’d brought out their dog’s armour, but he wasn’t an expert, and also didn’t really care.

Once it was a square, roughly five by five inches, they placed the phone on top, then turned it into a sealed box with the phone still inside.

“Here,” they said, dropping it in Guster’s lap. “That will last about half an hour. Don’t bother trying to break it, you’ll just hurt yourself.”

She looked down at it, then back up at them, expression unreadable. “You won’t-”

“_Enough_,” Orae snapped, cutting her off. “It should be _exceedingly _clear by this point that you are in _vastly _over your head. Tell whoever holds your leash that they’ll be better off if they mind their own business, and be grateful you’re sending a message in person rather than as a corpse.”

Guster blanched, and Remy could feel the slightest bit of pressure coming off of Orae. _Huh, maybe they’re not so weak after all. _

Apparently satisfied, Orae turned and began to walk away, whistling for Luce to join them. Remy waved goodbye to Guster, who was already trying to crack open the box on the ground, and jogged to catch up with them.

“Very cool,” he said approvingly.

Orae flinched, then glared at him. “What are you doing?”

“Uh, walking? And talking, I guess. Oh, and breathing- no, wait, hold on,” and he started breathing again, “okay, _now _I’m breathing.

“_Why _are you _following me?_”

Remy laughed as they reached the fire escape. “I’m not! We’re just, you know, walking together! Like buds!”

“‘Buds’?”

“Yeah, uh… friends? Pals? _Compadres_? _Amis?”_

“I know. What. The word. Means. _We are not pals.”_

Remy patted them on the shoulder lightly. “Not yet! But I’m sure once we’ve gotten to know each other a little better we’ll get there!”

They were silent most of the rest of the way down the stairs. “…you’re not going to leave me alone, are you?”

“Nope!” Remy confirmed cheerily. “You go first.”

Orae sighed. “…how much do you know about Brecht?”

* * *

### II

Kihri was _this fucking close _to absolutely losing her shit.

If you’d asked her any other day, she’d have said being a ghost wasn’t that bad. Sure, it couldn’t hold a candle to being _alive_, but it was still a lot better than being _dead. _Unless there was some eternal paradise or some bullshit, in which case she was already fucked, cause ten-year-old Kihri might’ve made it in but eighteen-year-old Kihri was gonna start stocking up on sunscreen, euphemistically speaking.

Sure, she couldn’t interact with anyone except her sister, couldn’t touch anything, couldn’t eat or drink or shit or jerk off or any of the million other disgusting biological processes that no-one ever thought they’d miss but she _really fucking did_…

Well, maybe it did kind of suck. But she was _conscious, _and she told herself that that was all that mattered.

Ordinarily, anyway. Today, though, her sister was making her crave the sweet embrace of the void.

“Zarah. Zarah. Zarah. Zarah. Zaaaaa-rahhhh. Za_-rah. Za_-rah. Razah. Sarah. Zarah. Zarah.” Okay, maybe there was one benefit to being a ghost – her throat never got tired. “Zoorah. Zazah. Zzzzzzzzzzzzzzarah. Zrhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhhh. Zarah. Zarah.”

Kihri had been going at it for close to an hour now, and she had to admit, she was a little impressed with her sister’s complete lack of response. Normally, the cold shoulder only lasted fifteen minutes of pestering, thirty at an absolute maximum. Under any other circumstances she’d think, yay, Zarah was learning how to actually play the game of Semi-Real Sibling Annoyance, but in the current context, it just made things even more worrying.

And they’d been a fucking nerve-wracker to begin with.

“What,” Zarah finally snapped, after five straight minutes of an extended ‘aaa’ sound after the first ‘z’. She still had what Kihri mentally categorised as ‘voicemail voice’; as in, ‘Zarah isn’t here right now, please leave a message’. It wasn’t that surprising, or even her fault, but with everything else that was going on Kihri was _seriously _worried.

It’d been years since she’d last done the thumb thing – even longer since the… other stuff- and Kihri had genuinely thought it wasn’t something they had to worry about anymore.

_Serves me fucking right, honestly. Should’ve known better, Kihri! Seems the universe got lazy and started reusing ways to make you miserable instead of coming up with new and exciting ones._

“Chicken butt,” Kihri replied instinctually. “Wait, shit, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to say that _please _don’t go back to ignoring me.”

Zarah was silent for a worryingly long time, but finally pulled her phone out from her pocket and held it to her ear and Kihri let out an airless breath of relief.

A premature one, as it turned out. “Remy,” Zarah said curtly. “His… what he did. You felt it too?”

Kihri suppressed a sigh. At least she was talking now. “Yeah, I did. Don’t think it was as strong as it was for y’all though – kinda just felt like someone had thrown a really heavy blanket over my… everything.”

“Mm. More like being at the bottom of the ocean, for me. And _yes, _before you say, I know not what that actually is, I am just guessing.”

Kihri actually _hadn’t _been about to comment on it, but there was no way to say that without sounding petulant. Which wouldn’t have stopped her normally, but see previous, vis a vis the situation and its relative normality. “Like an… overwhelming force, pressing down?”

“More…” Zarah idly popped the joints in one hand, the way she didn’t realise she did when she was thinking. “Like… when your heart goes dry, but everywhere?”

Kihri mentally ran the idiom through her Zarah translator. “So less pushing _down _and more pushing… in?” She tilted her head. “Pushing _inwards_.”

“Ah. Yes, that.” Zarah made a gesture with her hands, like holding an invisible ball. “All around. Did it spark any memories?”

_Yes. _“No.”

Thankfully, Zarah’d never been able to read her anyway. “Ah. Shame. It did not… he was not the same, as the others.”

_Scintillating observation, sis. _“Yeah, no kidding. Kinda cute though, right?” _Come on, snipe at Kihri, ha ha, isn’t it funny how annoying she is?_

“No,” Zarah said. “I think he is dead.”

_Well, I tried. _“Mm, pretty sure he was still walking around! Unless you mean like me, in which case he still managed to beat you like the red-headed stepchild, and if _I _could do that this relationship would be _very _different.”

“He caught me off-guard. Not happening again.”

“Oh, yeah, cause your _pride _is the most important thing here.” Kihri did a quick spin in the air as she sighed, using it to check their surroundings. “Wait, why the fuck are we in Eggroll?”

‘Eggroll’ was the mild-to-moderately-racist-sounding nickname for one of the small immigrant districts of Kaila, but it was what the residents called it so Kihri felt like it was probably cool for her to use it. And if it wasn’t, eh, who the fuck was going to hear anyway. Mostly folks from up north-ish, displaced by some neverending war or another in the Verde, and ‘eggroll’ cause… well, people were garbage, shocking. The food _was _good but like, come on.

Zarah wasn’t really a person who ate for quality so much as raw nutrients, though, so Kihri was at a loss for why she’d brought them there, unless-

“Oh, shit on a saint,” Kihri said. “You’re going to Missa, aren’t you.”

Zarah didn’t bother looking up at her. “And?”

Kihri pushed down the voices that told her to kill and pressed her fingers to her temples. She couldn’t feel anything obviously, but it helped by association. “_And _maybe I’m a little bit worried about you doing- _this, _when you’re so _clearly _in a bad place mentally right now.”

The fact that Zarah didn’t even bother denying it was how Kihri knew it was _really _bad. “I appreciate the concern,” she said, sounding anything but appreciative. “I will be fine.”

“Oh my gosh!” Kihri said theatrically. “You figured out a new trick with the blacklight?”

“…no?”

“But how else do you explain you just _saying _something and it coming true?! Oh, _wait. _You _can’t_.”

“Charming.”

“Zarah!” Kihri snapped. “You can’t just- you self-harmed again! You just had the literal definition of a relapse and I _get _that it’s hard for you but pushing it down and pretending it didn’t happen is only going to make things worse!”

“I. Am. Fine.”

“Great! Just fucking peachy! Except, wait, no, you _still _can’t magically make that true!” Zarah scoffed dismissively, which turned about to be the final straw for Kihri.

“Alright,” she snapped. “You know what? _Fine. _Get yourself killed, slash your wrists open, burn yourself, I don’t care anymore. I tried to be nice, I tried to give a shit, but clearly you’ve got your heart set on self-destructing, so who am I to stop you!”

Judging by the way Zarah flinched, it seemed she’d finally gotten through to her, but Kihri was too worked up to stop now.

“It’s your fucking life, and you’ve got every fucking right under the stars to throw it away! But you know what you _don’t _have the right to? _Me_, asshole. You know, your _fucking _sister, who’s _fucking _tied to you through some mystic magic bullshit? Or have you forgotten about that already?!”

“Kihri, that-”

“So _fuck you_,” Kihri barrelled on over her. “Fuck you and your self-pitying self-harming bullshit. You can do whatever you like to your life but you don’t get to do _shit _to mine. Zarah Karuni Vyas, if you self-destruct and take me down with you I swear on every single shining star in the _fucking _firmament that I will find some way to make you _pay _for it.” Kihri was right up in her face now, refusing to back down from the eye contact. “Are we saints-damned _fucking _clear?!”

Zarah broke first. “…yes.”

“Good.”

Kihri didn’t like acting like that. In fact, she _fucking _hated it. She hated the way it made her felt, she hated how it made _Zarah _feel, she hated that it was the only way she’d found to pull Zarah back from certain brinks.

But most of all, Kihri hated that _she _was the one who had to do it.

Parents. Guardians. Fucking- _schoolteachers, _even.

Every single other person in their life had abandoned them, which, you know, sucked. And wasn’t Zarah’s fault, even though she liked to blame herself for it (she liked to blame herself for _everything _except the stuff that actually was her fault), but it left Kihri as literally the only responsible person in her life. Which, fine, whatever. She’d be the helpful fucking angel on her shoulder, she’d make sure to keep her ticking along because keeping her sister alive meant keeping herself alive, and keeping her _okay _meant that her one source of conversation and human contact wasn’t a broken wreck of a person. And also because she was her sister and she loved her and all that gay shit or whatever, but anyway.

The _problem _was that when literally any new opportunity for contact come into their lives, Zarah pushed them away. It was one thing for Kihri to have to fill that role when there was no alternative, but to have others appear and be _rejected_… She didn’t know if Zarah was doing it intentionally or not (realistically the latter, but spitefully she suspected the former), but it made it _real _hard for a girl to keep her motivation up.

“Okay,” she said, having taken a second to collect her thoughts and push down the bitter thoughts. “Okay. Good. Now, it’s time to talk strategy. Would you say there was any noticeable difference in the time different types of wounds took to heal? If there is, we can tailor the kinds of stuff we get to that. ”

Zarah blinked at her. “You… are not stopping me?”

“Zarah, I _can’t _stop you. If you’re _actually _committed to getting to the other side of this thing in one piece, then I’m all for us arming ourselves!”

“Then why…”

“Because I had to make sure you weren’t – aren’t – just going to use this as an excuse to go out in a blaze of glory or some bullshit like that.”

Zarah opened her mouth to protest, but Kihri fixed her with a stare until she closed it.

“Yeah, that’s what I thought. So. Different types of injuries.”

“…not as far as I see, no. Remy did say that Orae was taking unusually long to heal from- to heal, so perhaps gunshots?”

“Hm, alright. Not really helpful for us, but interesting. If it’s a standard rate no matter what, then it might be that bullets do a lot of damage even though it’s quite concentrated. So we just need to figure out a way to do the maximum amount of damage without using a gun, and also hopefully without killing ourselves in the process…”

There. Crisis averted for now. Hopefully it would keep until _after _they were done dealing with all the crazy bullshit, but, well, hope in one hand and shit in the other.

And she couldn’t even shit.

* * *

### I

“Excuse me?”

Rinet jumped, spinning around in her chair, barely managing to bite down on a curse. “-_god, _I’m so sorry, I didn’t hear you come in.” _And also you shouldn’t have been able to come in, I _distinctly _remember locking the door. _Her service weapon hung uncomfortably as always below her left armpit, but after the previous night, she took even less comfort in it than she had before.

The new arrival laughed, rubbing the back of her head awkwardly. “Aw, geez, yeah, I do that a lot, sorry. Anyway, you’re Rinet Yso, right?”

Rinet’s heartrate skyrocketed. “Yes,” she managed to say calmly, “I am. Who’s asking?”

“Myra Coleridge.” She stuck out her hand, but then hesitated and pulled it back. “Ah, sorry, not the best idea, maybe. Um, I’ve been a little sick lately.”

The cough she gave was so clearly faked that Rinet was actually a little bit offended. “How can I help you, then?” _And why are you here, and how much do you know? _

Myra laughed, still awkward. “Oh, right, you’re probably all ‘ahh why is she here’, huh?” She pretended to cower in fear, but gave it up when Rinet failed to react. “…tough crowd.”

“‘Ahh,’” Rinet said, deadpan. “‘Why is she here’.”

“Oh, maybe not!” Myra winked at her. “We’ll make something out of you yet.”

Rinet sighed. “Seriously, tell me why you’re here before I’m forced to evict you from the premises.” _And this mortal coil._

‘The premises’ in question were a small office in the centre of Kaila, just far enough from City Hall to be inconvenient but close enough that some pencil-pusher up the chain of command could justify it as ‘on-site’. It was three rooms; the front office where Rinet currently sat, the side office where the actual files were kept, and an existentially-horrifying combination kitchenette and bathroom.

With Gabriel still in the hospital after that mess at the morgue the previous night, she was the only person present – but then again, ‘fully-staffed’ just meant the two of them 90% of the time, what with the Assistant Director’s continued and persistent absence. Rinet was pretty sure that she wasn’t going to be able to make this woman do anything she didn’t want to do – even leaving aside the context clues, she was well over six foot tall, and built like she fought bears for a living. But you had to say it anyway – it was just one of those things you did.

Myra clicked her fingers. “Oh, right, yes, one sec.” She pulled out a phone and snapped off a quick text with one hand, the other holding up a single finger in a ‘wait’ gesture. Even after the phone was back in her pocket, the gesture remained, leaving Rinet stewing for almost a minute while Myra watched the door in anticipation.

Finally, there was the sound of heels, and the door squeaked open once more, to reveal a lean, olive-skinned woman in her late 50s, wearing half-moon _pince nez_ and a dark purple headscarf.

“Dr. Khoura,” Myra greeted her, and Rinet didn’t miss the not-entirely-successful attempt to suppress a salute. It was something she’d learned to watch for very quickly in her line of business. _Military, then, or ex-. The question now is, whose? _No-one from the Ostran military should be showing up at their tiny, no-name office – there were official unofficial lines of communication for that. So foreign military, probably special operations, or ex-military in a private field. Rinet was hoping the former – a state power _can _get away with a lot more, but private ones were much more likely to try in the first place.

“Myra,” the doctor replied with a slight nod, before approaching Rinet, who squashed the instinctual urge to stand. “You would be Reserve Agent Yso, I presume?” She offered a hand, which Rinet ignored. “Charmed.”

“Just Yso is fine. ‘Ms.’, if you have to.” She looked back down at her computer and pretended to return to her work, although making progress on her report had been hard enough without two other people standing in front of her. “I’m assuming there’s a _reason _you’re here?”

Khoura just chuckled at the implied rebuke. “Indeed. I’m given to understand you’re the woman to speak to with regards to… let’s say, things that the Ostran government doesn’t _officially _know about?”

Rinet sighed, taking off her glasses and placing them on the desk. She had her false eye in today, not the patch – if she was forced to get into another fight, the feeling of it jiggling around inside her socket was going to be the least of her worries. “Dr. Khoura,” she started tiredly, “you know how sometimes, you can say something that is _factually _true, but also completely practically useless? What you just said was a perfect example of that.”

Khoura seemed more amused than anything else. “Is that so?”

Rinet rubbed at her eye. ”Dr. Khoura, I am twenty years old.” The older woman blinked at that, the first crack in her composure Rinet had seen. “Yes, I am _technically _who you want to be speaking to, but it’s probably helpful for you to understand that that says _very little _about me, and a _great deal _about the state of affairs around here.”

“Oh my god,” Myra whispered, “you’re just a little baby.”

“Myra,” the doctor scolded. “Thank you, Ms. Yso, for keeping us abridged of the… situation, as it were. However, we _do _have business with the OTA, so nevertheless…” She waved a hand. “May we sit?”

“Knock your- I mean, of course.” Khoura sat primly in one of the two chairs in front of the desk, but despite the ‘we’, Myra remained standing, awkwardly trying to avoid standing in parade rest. “Can I get you anything?” Rinet asked, not bothering to make the question particularly sincere.”

“No, thank you. First things first; I believe I owe you an apology.”

Well, whatever Rinet had been expecting, it hadn’t been that. “…pardon?”

“Well, really, I suppose it’s more due to Mr. Orland, but it’s my understanding that he’s currently not accepting visitors. Besides, it would be undue to drop in on him while he’s off-the-clock, so to speak.” Rinet glanced briefly over at her colleague’s empty desk. “If you would be willing to pass the message on, though, that would be simply _grand._”

“An apology for what?” Rinet asked slowly.

Khoura’s face shifted into a miniscule grimace, creases forming along well-worn lines. “I am afraid that Remembrance Auclair, the boy you dealt with last night, was… well, he was not my _responsibility, _exactly. Better to say his presence in your city was my responsible, and everything else that came from that.”

Rinet took a second, processing that. “…Chival?” she asked eventually.

Dr. Khoura inclined her head. “Just so. You’ll excuse us for coming ‘plainclothes’, but walking around in full parade gear would be… counterintuitive.”

“Excused. It’s not like you owe me an explanation, or- anything, really.” If this woman was who Rinet suspected she was – or held the position Rinet suspected she did, then asking her for the_ time of day_ would be presumptuous.

“Mm. Except, of course, for that which we all owe to each other, each and every one.”

Myra snorted. “Sorry,” she said sheepishly, as both of them turned to look at her. “You just… reminded me of someone.”

Dr. Khoura’s lips twitched. “Oh, I believe I see what you mean.”

“Is. That. All,” Rinet repeated coldly.

“No,” Khoura said, suppressing her smirk back down to a professionally neutral expression. “No, it is not. This might surprise you to hear, Ms. Yso, but our positions are not dissimilar.”

“You’re right,” Rinet said. “That does surprise me.”

Khoura chuckled. “Nevertheless, it is true. I’m sure you’ve already deduced this much, but I _do_ despise the kind of doublespeak that people in our line of work tend to adopt, so I’ll speak plainly. As the current Grand Commander of the Hollow Bay, I am, in essence, ‘in charge’. Unless one of the Triate decides to visit, of course, but the likelihood of that is… essentially nonexistent.”

Rinet thought furiously back to her briefings. Grand Commander… she’d been right in her earlier estimations, then; in fact, she might still have been too conservative. Rinet wasn’t fooled by her appearance and genial manner – Dr. Khoura could probably atomise her with a thought, and her superiors would probably have to thank her for doing it.

“You must think very highly of me,” she said, “if we’re similar.”

“I said our _situations _are similar,” Khoura corrected gently. “Which they are. Because while I am _technically _in command, what I am technically in command _of _is very very little. Something of a… special arrangement more than a standard promotion, the details of which I won’t bore you with, but the result is that apart from Myra here, I am essentially bereft of a staff, which results in a significantly higher degree of hands-on, face-to-face work than you might expect.”

“Ah yes,” Rinet said dryly. “I’m sure we earn about the same amount as well.”

That got a quiet snicker out of Myra, and Khoura pursed her lips, trying very hard not to look amused.

“She’s got you there,” Myra said, teasing.

“Perhaps I was getting a little enthusiastic,” Khoura admitted. “My main thrust, though, was to reassure you that there is no great crisis that necessitated a Grand Commander being here in person, only the thousand _small _crises that this line of work consists of.”

Now it was Rinet’s turn to hide her amusement. “I see. And Auclair is one of these small crises?”

“On the upper end of small, yes. The Tenebrate have been getting uppity, and Messer Auclair being sent abroad was a very ‘two birds with one stone’ approach on their part, which unfortunately seems to be succeeding.”

“…I see,” Rinet repeated, tapping a pen on the desk.

The Tenebrate was… the Blackguard? Or were they the government of Jenae? Or both?

The only fact she was confident in was that they were from fairly far away, so she decided to bank on that. “That’s a very long way to throw one stone.”

“Well, they have _very _good arms,” Khoura said with a smile.

“I just flew in from Jenae,” Myra quipped, “and _boy _are my arms tired!”

“She’s very lucky she’s good at her job,” Khorua told Rinet conspiratorially.

“I resent that,” Myra interjected. “I’m _also _very pretty.”

“This is all very nice,” Rinet said acerbically, “but if I wanted to watch middle-aged women flirt with each other I would have stayed with my parents. Auclair?”

Myra at least had the decency to look abashed. Dr. Khoura, on the other hand, merely smirked and adjusted her glasses. “Yes, quite. When this situation came to our attention, I made the executive decision to allow Auclair to pass through the enclosure unhindered, judging it better than the risk of provoking the Tenebrate by detaining him.”

“Which you _could _have done, yes?” She wasn’t sure what answer she wanted to hear.

“Oh yes,” she agreed. “Though not without considerable effort. He may be, ah…”

“A bit of an idiot?” Rinet suggested.

“Yes, that. He may be that, but as I’m sure you saw, brute force is something of a specialty for the Blackguard. And, something of a weakness of mine, I’m afraid.”

“Doctor-” Myra started, alarmed, but she was cut off by a raised hand.

“The reason I’m telling you this, Ms. Yso, is that while I don’t believe my initial decision was a mistake, it has become clear that there is a need for a degree of… risk management. And as you are, as you say, _technically _the woman to speak to, I think it would be best if we established a healthy working relationship.” She sighed. “Which would have been easier if I’d done it _before _causing this little cock-up, but sadly one can’t simply unfuck the pooch after the fact.”

The casual foul language in her posh accent caught Rinet off-guard, and a little chuckle escaped before she could stop it.

“Ah, she _does _have a sense of humour! I was starting to wonder.”

“Indira,” Myra admonished, “be nice.”

_Oh yeah, they’re definitely fucking._

“It was a compliment, I promise. No offense intended, Ms. Yso.”

“Some taken,” she replied honestly. “Look, you’re a Grand fucking Commander – I can’t exactly turn you down here.”

“Ah, but that’s exactly what I _don’t _want,” Khoura replied. “Please, this will be easier for everyone if we treat each other like equals.”

_Even though we aren’t. _“Alright, I can do that.” Rinet steepled her fingers in front of her. “Stop fucking around and tell me what you want, or leave me alone so I can get back to work.”

Khoura threw her head back and laughed, full and hearty. “_Perfect,” _she said, “absolutely perfect.”

“…you’re very easily amused, aren’t you?”

“You have no idea,” Myra muttered.

Khoura wiped a tear from her eye. “You make a valid point, Ms. Yso. So yes, let’s get down to business.”

She gestured, and after a moment of searching, Myra produced a file folder from her bag and handed it over to Rinet.

She opened it up to find a sheaf of heavily redacted files, and a set of long-range photographs of the three strangers from the previous night.

“Let’s start,” Khoura said, “with these three.”

* * *

### X

“That’s an interesting name,” the guy behind the counter said.

She withheld her sigh. “Yeah. I get that a lot.” There went her hopes of a smooth, businesslike transaction.

“Cassius, huh? Where’s that from?”

“Dunno.”

“Liezin or something?”

“_Dunno_.” _Ladies, grant me the patience not to cave this man’s skull in_.

Thankfully, he seemed to take the hint, returning to his work, thin fingers clacking away on the keyboard.

Then, of course, he started humming, tuneless and off-key, and she had to repress the urge to strangle him all over again.

Every second Ash spent in the Sandpit reminded her of why she didn’t usually come here. Sure, it was more central than the Gravestones; sure, the facilities were nicer and the work more efficient. Sure, she was significantly less likely to get a venereal disease here (which wasn’t to say that she didn’t take appropriate precautions, she wasn’t stupid, but these things happened).

But by Tiecin’s _nuts, _was it ever fucking dull.

“So,” the man behind the desk said, “watch any good shows lately?”

Patience was never her strong suit anyway.

“Shut up and finish punching it in,” Ash said calmly, “or I’ll reach through this glass and strangle you to death.”

The man blanched, which was impressive considering his already-pale skin. “That’s- you can’t-”

“Ah, Cassius. Charming as ever, I see.”

Ash painted a fake smile on her face – she recognised those heels. “Selia,” she said, turning around, “so good to see you.”

“Likewise. You’re quite the sight for sore eyes, these days.” Short and waifish, with pale, freckled skin, blonde hair, and a pantsuit that cost more than three of Ash’s takes put together, Selia Warren was the closest thing that passed for an administrator at the Sandpit these days.

She was also Ash’s ex, and what came after that prefix was something they continued to disagree on. Ash said ‘hookup’, Selia continued to insist ‘girlfriend’ was more accurate, but if they could agree on anything, it was that they were most definitely ex.

Which didn’t stop Selia from flirting with her, of course.

“Aaron,” Selia said as she sauntered up next to Ash. “Be a dear, and finish up Mx. Fallow’s paperwork, would you? I’m going to steal her for a few moments.”

“Of course, Ms. Warren.” As Selia led her away by the arm, Ash flashed him a wide smile, and chuckled when he paled.

“Don’t torment the help, Cassius,” Selia muttered. “Do you know how hard it is to get decent employees out here?”

Ash raised an eyebrow at her.

“It’s a figure of speech,” Selia said, annoyed. “No need to be snippy.”

Ash’s visits to the Sandpit didn’t usually involve much more than the path between the docks and the main office, so the clean white corridors Selia led them down were unfamiliar to her.

The occasional windows they passed offered a view out over the rim of the titular pit, the sparse greenery quickly giving way to golden sand as it descended down from the lip, like nature had overflown from a cup and left stained trails down the hillside.

“Congratulations, by the way.” Selia hadn’t removed her arm from Ash’s, and now she gave it a light pat. “Quite a job, from what I hear.”

“Thanks,” Ash said. “Wasn’t that big a deal, though. Just took a while.”

It absolutely _had _been a big deal. The mark had been one of those irritating paranoiacs, a woman who jumped at shadows and saw conspiracy in every coincidence. Sure, she _was _right about there being someone following her, but it wasn’t like Ash was the government or some conspiracy. She had a public bounty, for Tsiet’s sake! Of _course _there was someone following her!

Once upon a time, Ash would’ve shared those thoughts with Selia, listening to the quiet, throaty chuckles as she played up her indignation, the light touch on her arm comfortable and familiar instead of distracting.

“Well,” Selia said, “congratulations regardless. Anything exciting planned for your payday?”

“Not really,” Ash said. “The _Sunday _could do with a new set of yaw thrusters, and a bit of a tune-up.” She also needed to get her nice arm checked up, an issue with the electronics that was too complex for her to handle on her own, but even when they’d been together Selia had never been entirely comfortable when the topic of her prosthetics came up, despite being very fond of her other scars-

Ash pulled herself away from that line of thought, which wasn’t easy with a hand on her arm and the scent of cardamom in her nose. “Where are we going?” she asked instead.

“Nowhere in particular,” Selia admitted. “I wanted to talk, and to save poor Aaron from your wroth.”

“Talk about what?”

“Ah, just one moment.” They’d reached a wider thoroughfare, the clean white panelling giving way to utilitarian steel and concrete, and Selia indicated one of a few sets of elevators on the other side as they moved through a thin rush of people.

“You haven’t taken up a new contract yet, have you?” she asked, once they were alone inside the steel box.

“No. That was my next stop.”

Selia smiled, a little hint of deviousness behind the calm mask. “Change of plans, then.”

“Don’t,” Ash said coldly, before she could stop herself. “That’s not your decision to make.”

“I- right.” Selia at least had the decency to look abashed. “Sorry. Just as advice, then; I’d hold off on taking a new job for a week or two. And, you know.” She winked. “Stay in the neighbourhood, if you get my drift.”

“I’m not sleeping with you, Selia.”

“Not like that.” The elevator dinged as the doors opened onto a small rooftop garden, and Ash sighed.

“Not doing yourself any favours by bringing us here,” she commented, stepping out into the dry heat, admiring the flowers as they waved in the breeze.

“I wanted somewhere _private_, Ash, get over yourself. You’re hot but you’re not _that _hot.”

“Yeah, I am.”

“…damn,” Selia admitted after a second. “Yeah, you really are. You sure you don’t wanna-”

“Nope.”

“Figured. No harm in checking, right?”

“Nope.”

“…nope as in ‘no, there’s no harm’, or nope as in ‘nope, you’re wrong’.”

“Yep.”

Selia sighed. “Yeah, I should have seen that coming.”

“You really should have, yeah. Why shouldn’t I take a job?”

Selia paused, folding her skirt to sit down on the bricks surrounding one of the flowerbeds. Ash did the same opposite here, legs wide, arms folded. The pose drew up the legs of her pants slightly, and she didn’t miss how Selia’s eyes darted away from the exposed fibreglass and metal

“So,” she began, “if anyone asks, you didn’t hear this from me.”

“Hear what?”

“Oh, yes, very amusing. I know you don’t pay attention to world events, but surely you’re aware of the recent kerfluffle between the Chivs and Kallus?”

Ash _was _aware of it, which definitely was unusual. She didn’t like to concern herself with that sort of stuff – global politics didn’t put bread on the table, after all. But considering that what _did _put bread on the table relied pretty heavily on the interplay between Chival, Kallus and Sesate, keeping track of it was an unfortunate necessity.

“It’s just a border dispute, isn’t it?” Ash said.

“Not _just_, no. The Blackguard are sticking their nose where it doesn’t belong again, and for whatever reason, Kallus is covering them for it.”

“Where, exactly, doesn’t their nose belong?”

“Ostra.” Ash’s lack of recognition must have been obvious, because she quickly elaborated. “Tiny, tiny little country, on the other side of the Vaya. Used to be part of the Empire, I think, and the Chival have kept a pretty strict blockade there for the last century or so.”

“And this is relevant to me because…” Truth be told, she already had an inkling of where this was going, but she wanted to hear it from Selia

“I’m getting there, I’m getting there. Official word is that things are being settled behind closed doors, but what I’ve been hearing is that the Chivs are being curiously hands-off with the Blackguard in question.”

“Hm.” Ash tried to call up a set of dusty files from the back of her mind. “Other side of the Vaya… is that still Boneheart?”

Selia shook her head. “He vanished about a year ago. Could’ve been them shuffling him off somewhere quiet, but my bet is that his years of being a prickly little shit caught up with him and he pissed off the wrong person.”

“Sounds about right, yeah. So there’s a new GC?”

“Emphasis on _new, _yes. Dr. Indira Khoura, formerly of the Research Division.”

Ash raised an eyebrow. “No moniker?”

“Nope,” Selia confirmed. “The whole situation is shady as hell, if I’m being honest. None of my contacts had ever heard of her until she showed up. Apparently, she’s spent the last twenty years doing archeological work out in the middle of bumfuck nowhere, and then is suddenly the newest Grand Commander of the Chival?”

“Could have been a cover,” Ash pointed out.

“If it was, it’s the best cover I’ve ever seen. This woman has published more papers than I’ve ever _read_.”

“So she’s being set up to fail.”

“Could be,” Selia allowed. “Probably. Almost definitely. But there’s a little part of my brain that wonders if it’s… almost too obvious. They normally at least _try _to make it look plausible from the outside, and a command staff with only three people is anything but plausible. Personally, I think it’s a trap – whoever this Khoura is, they expect her to be able to handle whatever heat comes her way, and making her seem vulnerable would draw a whole bunch of folks out of the woodwork.”

“One hell of an asset they’re spending on this, if that’s true. That’s not a card you can play twice.”

“Mm-hmm. But that’s all secondary to the main point, which is that she has a command staff of _only three people_. And no matter what kind of game you’re running, you can’t really do your day-to-day with that and some grunts.”

Ash could follow the train of thought to its conclusion. “You want me to make myself available.”

Selia winked. “I always knew there was a brain under all that muscle. I know, it’s the Chivs, but think about it, Ash. You _know _how well they pay, and you’d be establishing a working relationship with a _Grand Commander._”

“_If _she contracts me,” Ash countered. “If she contracts anyone, period.”

Selia waved a hand dismissively. “Come on, when have I been wrong about something like this?”

“Tayeth. Shan Bai. Mulaney. Cervetz M-”

“Alright, fine, I get it, geez. And in my defense, only one of those was _actually _my fault.”

“How is giving me the wrong name three separate times not your fault?”

Selia rubbed her forehead. “…only _two _of those were actually my fault, then. Listen, it’s up to you, but this could be _big_, Ash. World stage big.”

“You said that about Shan Bai.”

“And I was right, wasn’t I? Just, you know… not for _you._”

Ash sighed. “I’ll think about it. Was that all?”

Selia pursed her lips. “Yeah,” she said eventually, “that was it. And remember-”

“I didn’t hear it from you,” Ash finished, standing up. “I know.” She stretched, and it’d be a lie if she said there wasn’t something satisfying the way Selia’s breath caught in her throat.

“Yes, that’s you,” she said, a little flustered. “Always professional.” She summoned the lift, and they stood in silence as it whirred up to them.

“Do you-” Selia started as they descended. “Do you ever miss it? …us?”

_No. _“Sometimes.” Selia had never quite _gotten _what ‘aromantic’ actually meant, and at this point, Ash just found it easier to lie to her.

“…yeah.” The door dinged, and Selia was first out the door. “You know the way back, surely,” she said over her shoulder, not looking back as she walked away.

“I’ll figure it out,” Ash said casually. “Bye, Selia.”

The words were quiet, almost inaudible. “…goodbye, Ash.”

Ash watched her go, leaning back against the wall and pulling out a pack of gum.

_Ostra, huh? Probably going to need a map, maybe a phrasebook…_

She glanced down at her faded tanktop and cargo pants.

…_and some nicer clothes, _she admitted.

Wouldn’t want to make a bad first impression with a Grand Commander, after all.


	16. Sweet Tsunami Symphony

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which there’s no calm before the storm

_“You know that I hate you, right? I really, _really _do.”_

_Zarah ignores her sister’s voice, letting the drum of the rain against her hood drown it out. Her hand clenches, the shard of red ghostlight in her hand drawing blood, and she lets out a wordless scream of rage and hatred as she charges._

_“If you die,” Kihri yells from behind her, “I’m going to _fucking _kill you!”_

The click of the door shutting behind them sounded absurdly loud in the quiet shop, and Zarah suppressed a wince.

“In the back,” a soft voice called out. “One moment, please.”

“Oh good,” Kihri said, relieved. “Told you she’d be here.”

“Mm.” Zarah didn’t want to admit defeat, but also didn’t have a good counterargument.

At first glance, Missa seemed to be a very standard type of shop, the kind of hybrid locksmith/tool/cobbler store that naturally formed like a kind of fungus. Racks of watches, knives and multitools were hidden behind glass and secured with heavy locks, and padlocks and chains hung from displays over a solid metal counter. The windows were covered with plain curtains, leaving the lighting to a set of dim fluorescent bars, and the carpet on the floors had been bleached so often that it was now a slightly off-white and frayed to near-destruction. Honestly, Zarah preferred it to the alternative – at least this way it was obvious that it had been cleaned regularly, as opposed to soaking in the dirt and grime and smoke of daily usage.

The first thing that stood out about Missa as non-standard was the door behind the counter. Solid steel, with no gap between the door and the frame, it looked like the kind of door that would be installed in a bunker or a military complex, not a small back-alley shop.

If one were very observant, or just got up very close, they’d also be able to see the slots over the windows where shutters could slide down, and tapping on the ‘glass’ of any of the cases would reveal it to be in fact industrial-grade plexiglass.

Anyone who was anybody knew, in no uncertain terms, not to fuck with Missa.

“Ah, Zarah, hello.” The steel door swung open, and a woman bustled out from behind it, flipping a welding mask to reveal a bright, crooked grin. She was short and stooped, with the slightly-humped back of someone who had spent a significant portion of their life in a field, and the wrinkles of someone for whom ‘a significant portion of their life’ meant longer than most people live, period. Despite that, she moved with surprisingly alacrity, swooping around the counter to give Zarah a friendly pat on the arm.

“Always a charm to see you alive, dear,” she said in accented Brechtin. “And always a charm to see you dead, Kihri!” She cackled, bright and sharp.

Kihri laughed right back. “I could say the same to you, you old bitch!” she said, grinning, and Zarah dutifully (and uncomfortably) repeated the words.

“You want me dead so bad, do it yourself!” Then, immediately switching back to the more kindly tone, “You are doing well, Zarah?”

“…could be better, Prim.”

Prim tutted, circling back around the counter. “Could be better, could be better. Nothing words, you know.”

Oh, did she ever know. “Not very well,” she clarified. “Bad, even.”

“Hm,” Prim frowned, pulling off the welding mask and setting it down on the counter. The short, straight hair underneath is just as white as Zarah’s, but from age rather than genetics. “Someone need killing?”

Kihri snickered. “_Saints, _I forgot how much I liked her. Why didn’t I want us coming here again?”

Zarah shook her head quickly. “No, no killing.”

“Uh, _yes_ killing, dude. It sucks, but let’s be real, if you’re going into this with that attitude you’re coming out in a bodybag.”

Zarah rolled her eyes. “We need some things,” she said to Prim instead of replying. “Weapons.”

Prim nodded seriously. “That hockey stick not doing you well enough?” she asked, gesturing to the handle poking up over Zarah’s shoulder. “Or, no, that’s not…” something flashes across her face for a second, and she sighs. “Oh, Zarah,” she says sadly, then something longer in Viyn. “What did you do?”

“You… know about this?” She didn’t specify further than that, but she got the impression Prim knew exactly what she was talking about.

“Zarah,” Prim said, serious as Zarah had ever heard her, “if it’s at all possible, you need to drop that thing down a sewer drain and get away from all of this.”

Zarah shook her head. “Too late for that, I think.”

Prim sighed. “Yeah, I expected you’d say that. Don’t tell me anymore, don’t ask me any questions, I don’t know and I don’t want to know.

As much as Zarah burned to ask her how she knew about- the ghostlight, about any of it, she could respect that.

“But,” Prim continued, pointing a finger up at her accusingly, “I don’t want to see your corpse on the news, understand?”

“It would not make it to the news,” Zarah said blackly, garnering a bitter laugh.

“Don’t die, then.”

“I will try my best.”

“I suppose that will have to do.” She rested her callused, wrinkled hands flat on the counter. “In that spirit, I suppose you don’t need a new knife?”

Zarah lifted her leg and showed her the old one, still strapped to her ankle. “Not exactly useful now,” she admitted.

“Ay yah,” Prim tutted. “Never know when it’s going to come in handy. You been keeping care of it like I showed you?”

Zarah pulled the knife out and handed it over, and Prim gave an approving little hum as she inspected the edge.

Like most people she knew, Zarah had met Prim essentially by accident. She’d been in her early teens, and taking an alternate route to avoid some cops had led her down this particular alley. She’d been lying if she said that curiousity wasn’t a part of why she’d stepped inside, but mostly it was the desire to be off the street until things cooled down a little more. Or at least until those specific cops had moved on (and what was up with two whole officers following up on a _minor _theft of some food, anyway? She’d been much angrier about that sort of thing back then – it had taken a little while longer for the reality to sink in).

Of course, she hadn’t exactly been inconspicuous – a teenager with a giant backpack, ragged clothes and white hair that she refused to dye but hadn’t yet learned to conceal – but when the cops had come knocking, Prim had hidden her without hesitation, lying to their faces.

Admittedly, she’d also spent five minutes afterwards pacing around and yelling in the back room of the store, too loud for Zarah to ignore, but the fact that she hadn’t yelled _at _Zarah, or even around her, already set her ahead of the pack.

“To the back, then?” Prim asked Zarah.

She nodded, already turning back towards the door to slide the deadbolt closed and flip the sign.

“Presumptuous, eh?” She’d panicked the first time Prim had made that joke, but she was more acclimated to her now, so she just rolled her eyes. “Come on, now?”

The lock on the heavy steel door was basic and sturdy, just a flush slot in which to insert a complicated-looking key. Prim didn’t trust technology, would go on about it at length – ‘strangling freedom with a chain made of convenience’ was a common refrain. Zarah assumed it sounded snappier in Viyn.

Prim ushered Zarah inside, and shut the door behind them, the heavy _thunk _of the lock clicking back into place familiar where it had once been ominous. The back room was slightly larger than the storefront, and had a much more utilitarian aesthetic. Steel shelving lined the walls and created orderly rows in the centre of the room, stretching up to the ceiling, where they were firmly bolted in place. Some of the individual shelves had been left open, lined with a thin layer of soft foam, but others had been partitioned off into sealed containers not dissimilar to safes, faint labels carved into the metal plating above the keyholes.

The reason for the foam was that the shelves, to a one, held a veritable arsenal of weaponry.

Prim didn’t talk about such things, and Zarah didn’t ask, but over the years she’d slowly assembled a story out of idle gossip and chitchat. How true it was, she didn’t know, but it seemed plausible enough.

It went like this:

_There was a man who sold weapons. _

_Not in the grand sense, not a war profiteer, but nevertheless someone who made tools of death and destruction available to others, in that great capitalist hellscape known as the free market. He had done this for a long time, and planned to continue to do so as long as it was still profitable, and it was very profitable. So profitable, in fact, that the man lived as comfortably as it was possible to live, for a certain definition of ‘comfortable’. Not a standard definition, no – except, perhaps, during certain bloody and black periods of history, and in the higher reaches of the same system that the man thrived in. _

_Of course, this made him well-disliked in many circles, but also fiercely defended in others – systems of power official and un- covering him so they could continue to make use of the services he provided. A tale as old as time – those who disliked, hated, this man were more numerous, their grievances raw and well-justified, but they did not have power, and did have things to lose, and so things continued on as they were. _

_Then, very suddenly, the man was gone. This is where the story started to break down somewhat, details become more muddled and contradictory, but it was at least generally agreed upon that the man had not angered or slighted one of his many benefactors, as some had initially thought. No, the single point of consensus that for once, the chickens had come home to roost, harvest being reaped. _

_The version that had rung truest, to Zarah, involved ideas she’d rather not think about – and to be fair, that was likely why it rang true, given the life that she’d lived. And, when the dust had settled, something in vaguely the same shape as before was found to be standing there, but under much different auspices, and manned by a small, sharp Viyn women by the name of Prim. _

Of course, all of that could be true, and none of it could be true, but as Kihri so often urged her, the practical reality was what mattered to Zarah, and that reality was that Prim sold weapons, was viciously anti-authoritarian, and had a soft spot for the two of them. The latter two were in their favour, and helped soften the ‘sold’ part of the former – even those who disliked a society still had to function within it, after all.

Up until now that had mostly meant making sure Zarah always had a sharp knife (or three) and the knowledge of how to keep it sharp, with the notable exception of the year Zarah had convinced Prim to sell her a taser. The stalker that had prompted her fear had eventually disappeared, thank the stars, and Zarah had stopped carrying it around with her, the danger no longer great enough to justify the risk of being caught with an illegal weapon.

She was pretty sure she’d need more than just that, this time around.

A lot more.

* * *

Ink bled from the horizon as they walked, Zarah’s bag significantly heavier than before and her wallet significantly lighter. It stung, but as Kihri had pointed out, it was better to put a dent in her savings than in _her_. The dead didn’t have much use for money – unless you were Audenish, she supposed, but if the Audeni afterlife was real, then she had much bigger things to worry about.

She had much bigger things to worry about, regardless. The air was growing thick with ozone as the distant stormclouds roiled and burgeoned. Lightning flashed inside its depths, bursts of searing light through the pitch black clouds, and the distant crack of their thunder was audible even over the sounds of the city around them. The storm wouldn’t hit them for a few hours yet – Kaila had an unobstructed view of basically the rest of the country and it was building at the very opposite end – but when it arrived, it looked as if it was going to be one for the history books.

All the shelters would be already full to capacity, Zarah knew from previous experience. It was hard enough to stay safe and warm during normal rain, and during big storms, if you slept under the wrong bridge, it was entirely possible to wake up already neck deep and drowning.

According to Kihri, Kaila’s architecture and infrastructure wasn’t designed for the climate – the Brechts who’d colonised Ostra (and renamed it as such) just building the way that they had always done up in the north, which was apparently mostly overcast and grey, ranging from drizzle in the warmer months, to frozen sleet in the cooler ones. To Zarah, who’d only ever known Kaila’s muggy storms and dry winds, there was something about it that had always seemed charming, even as Kihri mocked it at length. It’d be nice, to see the snow someday.

“Zarah!” Kihri’s voice broke through her thoughts, and she turned to see Kihri pointing across the road. “There?”

She followed the line of her finger, and nodded. “Good eye, thank you.”

Traffic was light, so she jogged across to the other side, backpack bouncing rhythmically, and approached the coffee shop Kihri had pointed out – or more specifically, the person sitting outside.

“Good afternoon,” Zarah said, raising her hand in greeting.

“Mm,” the man grunted in return. He was probably pushing 60, with weathered skin and a lined face, his short frizzy hair more grey than black. His clothes were similar to Zarah’s – worn and tattered but clean, with a threadbare tartan blanket over his lap and a black beanie over his head. He had a cap with a few coins sitting on the pavement in front of him, but Zarah knew he’d pegged her as a fellow vagrant, and had no expectations.

“I’m moving soon,” he said, “but if you think you’re gonna get anything with that storm rolling in, good luck.”

Zarah shook her head. “Not looking to take over, no worry. Have you been around here long?”

“What, like, years?”

“No, as in. Today, yesterday.”

“Ah, right. Nah, I was over near Peterson and Bridges – you know the junction there?” Zarah nodded. “Yeah, I was over there last night.”

Zarah glanced over at Kihri, who nodded slightly. “Would you happen to have noticed anything last night?”

“Anything like what?”

“Out of the ordinary. Loud noises, strange people… anything.”

_A man falling from the sky. _

“Around 3am?”

Zarah blinked, the words taking a second to penetrate. “Y-yes. Yes, around then.” After so many dead-ends, she hadn’t been expecting- _anything_.

“Loud, smashing noise, then a bunch of sirens, then a bunch more sirens?”

“_Yes_.”

“Nah, I didn’t hear anything like that.”

The man laughed at the look on her face. “Kidding, kidding. Yeah, that all happened around 3 in the morning. I remember cause it woke me up, and I checked the weather.”

“Peterson and Bridges, you said?”

“This’d have been… closer to Marist, actually. Alleyway behind the pharmacy. Dunno where it actually happened, though, that’s just where I was.”

Zarah shook her head. “That is perfect. Thank you very much.”

She turned to go, but a cough stopped her. “You got somewhere to wait out the storm, kid?” he asked. “I got a spot, if you need it.”

“Thank you, no.”

“No you don’t need a spot?”

“No,” she said, walking away, “I am not waiting it out.”

* * *

It didn’t take them long to find the impact site.

They’d found the spot the man had mentioned, then spiralled out through the streets and alleys from there. The streets noticeably cleared as they did, the roars of the storm growing louder and driving the people indoors and undercover.

After careful and paiend consideration, Zarah had elected to stop at a convenience store and buy a raincoat – ‘pained’ because she’d already spent more money than she was comfortable with that day. Kihri had argued for an umbrella on the basis that it was a backup weapon in a pinch, but Zarah had countered that argument with her own, which was to ignore her sister and do what she’d originally been planning to do regardless. It was the stereotypical garish yellow, and even with the hood down and unbuttoned, it still made her stick out like a sore thumb, but experience had taught her rain could arrive much much faster than you expected, and while she didn’t know if her new healing abilities could cure hypothermia, she wasn’t particularly interested in testing it.

No matter how much Kihri wheedled.

“-seventy percent chance! Okay, maybe sixty-five, but you’ve beat worse odds than that, right? I mean, what’s the survival rate for homeless gay teens, forty-five percent?” There was a pause. “Okay, you know what, I realised it was bad as soon as I said it.”

“<Well, thank the firmament for that,>” Zarah muttered to herself.

Thankfully, whatever acerbic reply Kihri had been about to pull out was cut off, as they rounded the corner and stopped in their tracks.

For whatever reason, Zarah had been expecting a large crater, with the staggered rings of cracks and the indentation in the centre, which in hindsight was unrealistic. Her expectation that it would be on the ground was significantly more realistic, but that too had been proven false.

The brick wall on one side of the alleyway had been half-collapsed inward, a crumbling pile of masonry sitting on top of a dented dumpster. Blood was splattered liberally around the impact site, dried in odd clumps and splotches where it had been soaked up by the dust, and a few scraps of fabric had been torn off on jagged edges and corners.

Zarah looked at Kihri, who wordlessly pointed up at the lip of the building on the other side of the alley. A large chunk had been taken out of the edge, and Zarah could track a path where a falling object had clipped off of it to send it careening into the wall.

‘Object’ seemed so impersonal, but it was easier than thinking about it as a person.

“Well,” Kihri said, “at least now we have a new upper limit for the kind of punishment you can take.”

Zarah pointedly did _not _think about what that would look like from a first-person perspective. Didn’t think about what it had been like the last time, at _all. _At least this time, it couldn’t have happened to a more deserving person. She just wished it had finished him off.

So she didn’t have to.

“How old is the blood?” Zarah asked, as Kihri swooped forward to get a closer look.

“Definitely over twelve hours, which tracks with what that guy told us, but…”

She trailed off and began flitting around. Zarah didn’t interrupt – it was obvious she thought she had something.

“I… think,” Kihri said slowly, after a few minutes of study, “and don’t quote me on this, but I _think _he was stuck here for a while. Or unconscious. Definitely not moving.”

“How?”

“How did he get stuck, or how did I know? Drip patterns, for the latter.” She pointed at a couple of dried-up pools on the ground. “Can’t find a source for these and a few others. For the former, I mean, you needed time to heal from broken bones, and I’m pretty sure he would’ve been essentially pulverised. Hells, I’m kinda surprised he didn’t jellify.”

Zarah imagined scattered viscera slowly reforming into the shape of a person, and shuddered.

Kihri continued to float around, muttering to herself, so Zarah moved past her to look around the rest of the alleyway. Slightly further up, she found the debris from the ledge where it had fallen – nothing interesting there, she determined. Maybe Kihri could find some bizarre piece of information from the way that they’d broken or how they’d landed, but that wasn’t here.

She continued further up the alley, keeping her eyes peeled. Nothing, nothing, nothing… A small wheelie bin caught her attention, and she moved to the side to see behind it.

There was a body.


	17. Upside Down & Inside Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which things come apart

_Zarah dodges the first tendril, and the second, but the third and fourth come together and she only manages to get one of them, knocking it away with the shard of ghostlight but dropping it in the process. The other spears her through the upper arm, and she bites down on a growl of pain as she stumbles. _

_Then, the corona of blacklight around her flares, illuminating the raindrops with impossible radiance, and she grabs hold of the tendril that impaled her and uses it to pull Paose forward. It dissolves into tiny shards of blue after a bare second, but the momentum is enough to bring him into reach. She grabs the collar of his shirt with one hand and claws at his face with the other, rage bleeding out into a hollow, raw scream as bone crunches underneath her fingers and blood and viscera run down her arm._

_Another tendril impales her in the torso, but the pain barely registers, and she squeezes tighter, until it whips to the side, tossing her away to crash into the mud. Something gives as she is pulled away, though, and when she gets to her feet, she finds shards of bone buried in her hand, the viscera already washed away by the rain._

_Paose pulls himself to his feet, half his head caved in, leaving his face a sunken, malformed visage._

_He’s not smiling._

“Kihri,” Zarah said.

“Yeah, yeah, one sec, I think-”

“Kihri.”

Silence. Then, “Oh.”

Young, dark-haired. Hole in the torso.

“Zarah…” Kihri started, voice hoarse.

Zarah ignored her, crouching down. She kissed the back of each of her hands gently, and reached out and closed the body’s eyes – or tried to. Her hands were shaking, so it took three tries.

She stood, letting her hands fall back to her sides. The thunder was getting louder, closer, but it seemed strangely muted.

She opened her mouth, but nothing came out.

“<…let them find their place,>” Kihri said from beside her. “<And trouble not those who have found balance.>”

With a trembling hand, Zarah wiped impotently at her eyes, but didn’t look away. It’s not like she wouldn’t be seeing that image every time she closed her eyes.

“Zarah,” Kihri said hesitantly, “there’s… this body is a lot fresher than the blood back there.”

She’d noticed. Of course she’d noticed. That was her thing, wasn’t it? She’d seen so many corpses, so many brutalized and mutilated teenagers, that she was unflappable, right?

Carefully, she took the body by the shoulders and moved it to the side. She rubbed her hands on the raincoat, but they still felt dirty.

On the wall where the corpse had been resting, words had been written in blood, slightly smeared and uneven.

WHO DOESNT LOVE A GOOD TRAESURE HUNT?

_“You know,” Paose says, his tone a hollow imitation of his previous cheer, “you really are one of the most _annoying _people I’ve ever met.”_

_Zarah doesn’t bother to answer, wiping wet strands of hair away from her face as she pulls herself off the ground. _

_“Who even are you?” he snaps. “What, did I kill some cousin of yours or something? What does _any of this _have to do with you?” For the first time Zarah has heard, he actually sounds _mad.

_A laugh bubbles out of her throat, raw and hoarse. _

“…is it wrong that I’m almost more offended by-” Zarah looked at Kihri, and she snapped her mouth shut. “Sorry.”

Underneath the words, an arrow had been drawn, pointing to the right, and a street address.

Kihri said something, but Zarah couldn’t make out the words over the roaring in her ears. It felt like her veins were filled with molten steel, burning so hot it almost felt like freezing cold. He seemed to have a talent for inducing that in her, but this time, there was nothing she could hit, no obvious way to lash out or vent. So instead, she _burned, _using the feeling to drive herself forward even as it threatened to consume her. Not stopping the wave, but riding it out.

It carried her through the streets, nails digging crescents into her palms, as the first drops of rain began to fall. She didn’t bother to put her raincoat’s hood up, and the feeling of the water against her skin felt wrong. It felt like they should be evaporating on contact, before they even touched her, so great was the inferno that raged within her.

But she was a human, not a fire, and so they simply rolled down her skin like the tears she couldn’t find the energy to cry.

She wished she’d been surprised when they found the next body, exactly where the message had said it would be. She wished she’d been _anything. _

“<The same?>” she asked quietly, voice hoarse.

“<…slightly fresher,>” Kihri replied. “<Zarah, this->”

Zarah ignored her, ignored the writing behind the body, only looking long enough to absorb the next location before setting off again, breaking into a jog, and then a run.

It took her two more bodies, both fresher than the previous, to realise that at some point she’d stopped breathing.

By the sixth body, the rain was beginning to wash the message away.

The seventh was unreadable.

_He was between her and the shard of ghostlight now, and while she was still managing to maintain a connection, it was a fragile one, liable to break. She dashed forward, the wounds at her side already healed over, mud spraying behind her. Tendrils lashed out again, but she hadn’t come off the ground empty-handed. With a flick of the wrist, the glob of mud and dirt she’d scooped up hit him square in the face as she slipped by, dropping into a slide to grab her makeshift weapon back. _

Zarah didn’t even know where she was going anymore, she barely knew where she _was. _She couldn’t see further than a block, and the drumming of water against her skull would have drowned out Kihri’s yelling even if she’d been listening in the first place. But she was following- _something, _following the way her rage reached out, leaning forward to try and grasp something, to crush it and set it alight and wipe it clean from the face of the earth.

And, now that she was no longer paying attention, the rain did start to steam away from her skin.

The torrential downpour was starting to mess with Zarah’s sense of reality. The persistent rhythm against her skull drowned out even the sound of her own blood rushing in her ears and the impact of her feet on the ground, making her feel disconnected and adrift. It blocked out her sight, narrowing the world down to a few meters around her and the tiny islands of light underneath the streetlamps. Like walking in a dream, the spaces between the islands reduced to void. It almost felt like she would take a step out of one only to arrive immediately in the next, sidestepping the gap entirely.

A building emerged in front of her, manifesting out of the patches of blackness in the muted city lights in the distance. Lower than most around it, three stories at most, more wide and deep than tall. In another disorienting detail, the wall and gate surrounding appeared _after _the building, despite being closer, but they also brought with them recognition. Not a name, but it was a school, a private one.

She’d already known instinctively she was going in the right direction, but the hole torn in the metal bars of the gate was useful confirmation. The bottom of the circle of mangled iron was just below eye-level for her, so it was technically possible for her to jump through it.

The hammer was in her hand now, with no conscious effort on her part to take it out. She drew it back effortlessly, and, for maybe the first time since she’d touched it, swung it like a tool instead of a weapon. It smashed into the gate with a hollow _gong _that was audible even through the rain, impact vibrating back up Zarah’s arms, and the gates collapsed onto the gravel path behind them with a splash.

Zarah strode forward.

_The ghostlight cuts into her hand, but the blood can’t make it any slicker than the rain already is. She rights herself, spinning around, and sees the tendrils coming for her more by the way they distort the rain than the shapes themselves. His ghostlight doesn’t glow, not like hers does. _

_Then again, it isn’t really _hers_, is it?_

_Instead of dodging, she holds out a hand and catches the fastest tendril with an open palm, letting the point spear through her hand and into the flesh of an arm. The hand with the shard flashes up and slices through the body of the tendril,  
_

_separating the part that impaled her, and as it loses form she _focuses_. Reaches out, in the same way she does when keeping her hold on the blacklight at a distance. The ghostlight is… slippery, evasive and hard to grasp in a way it had never been before, but after a struggle that feels like an eternity, something gives, and her corona of blacklight flares as the tendril reforms into a spike in her hand. _

The doors of the main building had been ripped from their hinges, and water tracked inside, spilling across the wood. It had been a rich school, Zarah knew that much – if the gate and the high walls hadn’t been evidence enough, or the sheer amount of land it occupied in the inner city for that matter, the interior decoration certainly would have sufficed.

Before the blood, that is.

There were no bodies or limbs, thank the stars for small favours, but crimson had been splattered so liberally around the room that it almost outweighed the natural colours. Thick, broad slashes, still wet and dripping, spilling out like ink into the thin puddle of rain that had been tracked inside. At the end of the corridor, in front of the open stairs up to the next level, a large arrow had been sloppily painted, pointing to the right. Furniture, large bookcases and benches, had been dragged over and piled to block off the stairway and the corridor to the left, leaving only the one route.

Kihri said something from behind her, and Zarah almost started. She’d forgotten that Kihri… _was. _

With great difficulty, she forced the boiling blood back down, enough that she could process words. “<Say that again,>” she rasped. It was a little easier to think, now that she was indoors and out of the rain. Easier to ground herself, without the noise and the darkness.

“Oh, you’re doing words again? Fucking _wonderful. _I said, it’s a trap.”

If she had the energy, Zarah would have fixed her with her most withering glare. “Obviously. Check for traps.”

Kihri rolled her eyes. “Yeah, cause-”

Zarah stepped towards her, and she flinched back, eyes going wide. “Check. For. Traps.”

Kihri’s form flickered, and for just a second, Zarah would have sworn her sister looked just like her – hair suddenly long, the long scar over her lips replaced with the thousand tiny pockmarks. Then, Kihri was back to her normal self, and she nodded silently before darting forward to inspect the barricades.

_This time, Zarah makes no attempt to dodge the tendrils, standing her ground, red shard in one hand and blue spike in the other. _

_The first one is aimed straight at her head, but she brings the shard up just in time, the tendril’s momentum causing it to glance off the flat side just enough to whistle by her ear. Instantly, her other hand comes up, swinging the spike across the path of the tendril. It’s almost a surprise, when it meets no resistance – instead, it passes through effortlessly, leaving a gap behind it as it absorbs the ghostlight into itself. _

_There’s no time to process, and she sweeps the spike down to intercept the next tendril. Just before making contact, though, it recoils away, twisting out of the way of the spike. _

_“Ooh, look at you,” Paose snarls, the tendrils retreating to coil around him. “So _fucking _precocious, a new trick every day, watch her go!” His face has mostly reformed now, but the section of his beard where Zarah had grabbed him hasn’t grown back in, making him appear faintly ridiculous. _

_Zarah meets his eyes, and finds the anger burning bright, but with nothing beneath. Hollow, and empty – not because it had been carved out, but because it had never been there in the first place. _

_“I wanted,” she says hoarsely, not knowing or caring if the words were audible, “to make you suffer. I wanted to see you bleeding, broken. I wanted you to suffer like all you have done to others. But it is not that, really, is it. You have to be a person for that, and you are just…” she flicks her fingers dismissively. “Nothing.”_

“Clear,” Kihri said, and Zarah swung the hammer down, tearing a path through the furniture blocking the stairs. A few more sweeps cleared things up, wood and metal crunching and tearing like paper, and then she stepped through, ignoring the cloud of sawdust even as it stung at her eyes, proceeding up the stairs.

There was another message, on the wall opposite the landing.

NAUGHTY, NAUGHTY.

Below it, a woman slumped against the wall, and Zarah froze. She’d thought it was a corpse, for the first half-second, but the rise and fall of her chest was evident.

Especially in the way it made the grenade tied to her bob up and down.

“Zarah,” Kihri hissed.

“I see it.”

“Not that, _that._” Zarah followed her pointing finger, and found a thin wire strung across the landing at ankle height.

She froze.

She’d been about to rush over, incensed by the sight. She wouldn’t even have noticed the tripwire until it was too late.

“…thank you,” she said eventually, taking a slow step back.

“_De nada,” _Kihri replied. “Gotta admit, this is… pretty canny. Wouldn’t have expected it, from what we’ve seen of him so far.”

Zarah silently agreed. Something had changed, her blood had cooled enough now to see that much. It was a strange thought to have, while standing where she was, but true nevertheless. Her anger, the blinding, vicious rage, hadn’t abated, but it _had _shifted. The molten metal had cooled, but now instead of burning it could _cut. _And she had every intent of doing so.

Zarah stepped carefully over the wire as Kihri darted forward, inspecting the grenade from up close.

The woman seemed to be unconscious, thankfully, and there were no obvious injuries on her.

She was middle-aged, white, with salt-and-pepper hair, dressed in bland officewear, and the grenade had been clipped to her simple chain necklace.

“Okay,” Kihri said as she inspected the explosive. “Okay, this is pretty bare-bones work. Pin’s been pulled, but the wire is keeping the lever down for now. If you just make sure you’re holding it down when you cut it away, it should be fine.”

Zarah stepped forward to do just that, then stopped, hand just inches away from the grenade.

“Zarah?” Kihri asked, as she remained frozen there. “What is it?”

Truth be told, she wasn’t entirely certain what had prompted her hesitation. A whisper in the back of her mind, some instinct based on information her conscious brain had yet to process properly – whatever it was, she knew that something was wrong.

“The stairs,” she said slowly, her brain churning over the words as they came. “One obvious trap, to hide another.”

Kihri whistled.“You think there’s one more layer?”

She hadn’t been sure until Kihri said it, but the words slotted neatly into the ideas she’d been forming. “Check underneath, please,” she asked, drawing back from the grenade.

“…_shit,_” came Kihri’s voice seconds later, half her body submerged inside the woman’s and the floor. “You were right. There’s a mine down here. Can you get some light down here- _without _moving her?”

Zarah crouched down and held out a hand, flaring the blacklight around it.

“Oh _wow _that’s still fucking weird. Okay, yeah, it looks like it’s a pressure sensor, so it’ll go off if you move her. But… there’s also wire running up her back. Does it attach to the back of the necklace?”

Now that she knew what to look for, it only took Zarah a few seconds to find the tiny glint of metal running from the necklace down under her jacket. “It is… twisted in, I think. Inner twined?”

“In_ter_twined. Okay.” Kihri floated back up into view, emerging from the woman’s form. “I… _think _you should be able to remove the grenade without setting it off, if you’re careful, but it’s going to go off no matter what.”

“How far is safe?”

“How far away? Ten-ish meters, I think – you can probably just chuck it down that corridor there.” She paused. “_After _I’ve checked that there’s no-one else down there.”

“Good idea.”

Zarah sat back on her haunches as Kihri darted off to do that. They might be able to get rid of the grenade, but it was still going to be _loud. _That was probably what Paose had planned – no matter what happened, there was going to be an explosion, and he’d know exactly where they were. And they still had to deal with the mine on top of that.

“All clear,” Kihri said, fading back into view through the wall. “You ready?”

Zarah carefully snapped the wire connecting the grenade to the necklace, holding the lever down with her hand as the wire went slack.

“Not particularly,” she said, and hurled it down the corridor.

_Paose’s scowl deepens. “You little-”_

_“Shut up,” Zarah snaps over him, the blacklight around her suddenly flaring to light up the ground around them. “Stop _talking. _I am _done _with you and yours, with your stupid whatever as if you are anything worth _anything. _Bare you neck, and I will be quick. That is all you will get.”_

_He snarls, teeth bared, and/_

_/Zarah casts the mangled mess of flesh and bone to the side as Paose stumbles back, clutching at the ruined remains of his wrist._

**“Wait. Something’s changed.”**

_“I’ll kill you for that!” Paose spits, echoing oddly through the vast empty space of the hall._

_“Oh,” Kihri laughs sardonically, “right. _That’s _why you’re going to kill her! It’s a totally new development!”_

_Zarah spins the hammer calmly, eyes ice cold. “You will try.”_

**“Yes, I’m sure. They’re indoors now, she has the hammer again, and the sister is there too.”**

_“Two o’clock!” Kihri calls out, and Zarah spins obligingly to shatter the tendril coming from that direction. “Twelve, three and one! Okay, three and two but multiple on three!”_

_With her guidance, Zarah dances effortlessly around the attacks/_

_/and slams into the wall with the crunch of broken bones._

**“It happened again! You said there were no other Seers involved, so how is this happening?”**

**“I… don’t know. None of the others should be able to affect your readings like this.”**

**“You promised this would be a simple job, Khoura! I’m not rated to be handling another Seer like this, and even if I was I ** ** _still _ ** **wouldn’t do it.”**

**“I know, and I’m sorry; this is completely unprecedented. Your rates will be adjusted to match, of course.”**

**“Oh, well, why didn’t you just say that to begin with? You want me to try and find them, then?”**

**“…’not rated’, hm?”**

**“Oh, come on, Khoura. You know a girl’s gotta play hard-to-get sometimes.”**

**“Yes, but a ** ** _professional _ ** **should be clear and upfront.”**

**“Oh, for- do you want me to try and solve this or not?!”**

**“Only if you’re confident you won’t be detected in the presence.”**

**“Easy as. Unless I die. In which case… not easy as.”**

**“I almost hesitate to ask, but… easy as what?”**

**“You know what, just forget it.”**

The woman jerked back into consciousness at the sound of the grenade exploding – if Zarah hadn’t been holding her firmly in place, she would’ve lifted off of the mine, and turned them both into giblets. Zarah might have survived it; she _definitely _wouldn’t have.

“Wh-what,” she stammered incoherently. “You- the-” She struggled against Zarah’s grip, more out of instinct than any specific intent.

“Stop moving. There is a bomb.”

“A _bomb?!” Now _there was intent.

“Smooth moves, ex-lax,” Kihri said.

“Yes, _bomb. _It goes off if you move, so _stop. Moving._”

Thankfully, that did the trick. “Wh-what is happening?” she asked. “I remember… a man, and he was saying something about…” She trailed off as she properly took in Zarah for the first time.“Who are you? You’re not a student, are you?”

Zarah could have laughed, if it weren’t for… everything.

“No, I am not. Please, we do not have much time.”

“Understatement of the year,” Kihri said. “Zarah, I’m getting some serious bad vibes getting closer.”

“‘Bad vibes’?!” Zarah asked incredulously, remembering the woman’s presence too late to stop herself from turning to glance at her sister.

_Well, when the well is dry…_

“What?” Kihri said, annoyed. “You really think _now _is the time to start quibbling?! Bad _fucking _vibes, getting closer pretty _fucking _rapidly, so unless you want to end up splattered on the _fucking _wall, you better hurry it the _fuck _up!”

Zarah turned back to the woman, ignoring Kihri so she didn’t have to admit she was wrong.

“Ma’am, please. I need you to die what I say, or you will die.”

The woman paled.

“And _now _she thinks you’re going to kill her!”

“You are sitting on a bomb,” Zarah hastily clarified. “I can get you off, but you have to do what I say.”  
Zarah heard Kihri snort, presumably at some innuendo Zarah had accidentally made, but she ignored it, forcing herself to make eye contact with the woman.

“…okay,” she said, voice shaky. “Okay. What do I do?”  
Zarah nodded, moving to one side of her. “This… may become slightly awkward.”

“M-more awkward than dying?” she managed to joke.

“Honestly?” Kihri replied unheard, “Probably yes.”

“Kihri, hush. I need you to move to the side slightly, but without lifting off the ground, please. Can you do that?”

The woman blinked at her, vaguely goldfish-esque.

“Ask her name,” Kihri suggested. “TV says it helps.”

_Oh, well, if TV says so… _Then again, it wasn’t like she had room to be picky.

The woman turned out to be a Belinda, and after a bit of shuffling around that Zarah had to physically stop herself from hurrying along, she’d moved enough to the side to reveal the pressure plate, painted a dull green. Zarah pressed down on it firmly, holding it in place, and as soon as she gave the go-ahead, Belinda practically catapulted to her feet and sprinted away.

“Smart woman, that,” Kihri commented. “Can’t help but notice you’ve gotten yourself in a bit of a pickle, there. You know, considering that now _you _can’t move without exploding, and he’s getting closer?”

“No,” Zarah said, letting her backpack slide off her shoulder and onto the ground.

“…just ‘no’? Not even gonna try-”

Zarah opened the bag and raised an eyebrow at her.

“Oh. Right.”

**“Okay, things seem to have settled now, but I’m not sure how long it will last.”**

_Zarah throws the hammer with both hands, sending it spinning through the air. Paose attempts to deflect it, but red ghostlight tears effortlessly through blue, and the head catches him solidly in the chest with a brutal _crunch.

**“Indoors now, still fighting, the hammer is there. Think it’s a… gymnasium, or whatever they’re called around here.”**

**“Wouldn’t know, I’m afraid.”**

_Zarah strides forward, much calmer and more composed than the previous visions. Fury still burns in her eyes, but it’s tempered now, leashed._

**“The colour commentary isn’t strictly necessary, is it?”**

**“…no respect for the art, I swear to god.”**

_Paose is still struggling to remove the hammer from his chest as Zarah draws closer. Unlike before, when the force of the blows had sent him flying, the hammer’s head has pulped his chest on impact. _

_He manages to lash out at Zarah with a tendril, but her corona flares as she catches it, tearing off a section and taking control of it._

**“Oh, interesting. Seems like she figures out the authority trick no matter what.”**

**“Figures out?”**

**“Definitely – I mean, before, in the rain one, that was the first time for sure. This still seems… pretty new. Makes you think, huh? About determinism and shit. Maybe it was fated to happen or whatever.”**

**“I’d advise you to ** ** _think _ ** **about your paycheck.”**

**“You really know how to sweet-talk, doc.”**

**“She does, actually. This just ain’t it.”**

**“Gag.”**

_Paose almost has the hammer out, but Zarah makes the point moot as she grabs the handle and wrenches it free, seemingly effortless despite the difficulty he’d been having. A quick blow pulps his head like a grape, and although it’s started to reform before he even hits the ground, it’s clear that /_

_/ she hasn’t got much left in her. Her left arm is missing below the elbow, and it’s not growing back._

**“It happened again!”**

**“** ** _Mehsahl.”_ **

**“No, no, this is good. Now that I was watching for it, I should… be able.. to…”**

_Paose steps into the room /_

Paose stepped into the room /

_looking around with a frown /_

on his face. The body was gone, and / _there’s _/ no / _sign _/ of-

**“Got it.”**

-Zarah.

**“It’s her? That’s… that can’t be right.”**

**“Well, it ** ** _is, _ ** **so I don’t know what to tell you. She’s the one breaking it up, for sure.”**

**“Keep watching her, then. No predictions, just the present. Myra, keep me informed – I have to make some calls.”**

“Well,” Paose said, corner of his mouth quirking up. “Run away again, huh? Shocker.” He was covered in blood, but unwounded, his clothes undamaged. For once, he was standing on his own feet, instead of being conveyed around by his tendrils.

He took a step forward, entering the room-

-and froze, foot hovering in the air.

“…clever,” he said, grin fading slightly. “Almost got me.” A sweatshirt had been draped across the floor, and a tendril whisked it away to reveal the mine underneath, plate held down by a chunk of rubble.

As the sweatshirt moved, there was a faint _click, _and the light glinted off the wire that had been attached to the fabric as it was suddenly pulled taut. Only for an instant, though, because in the very _next _instant, the mine that had been hidden under a dust-covered sheet on the other side of the room was activated, and the storm of shrapnel tore Paose to shreds.

**“Oooh. Nasty.”**

Three rooms over, Zarah uncovered her ears, and shot her sister a smug little glance.

“Yeah, yeah,” Kihri said, rolling her eyes, “fine, whatever. I still say it was dumb.”

Zarah could see the results as soon as she stepped back into the corridor, a brutal painting of crimson and blue, and she couldn’t stop her lips baring slightly. Not a smile, never a smile, but the simple, animalistic baring of teeth, the vicious satisfaction of pain inflicted. Under other circumstances, she’d feel guilt over it, guilt and piercing self-loathing, but right then… no, in that moment, she couldn’t bring herself to feel any other way. He _deserved _it. If anyone did, it was him – him, and the woman he worked with.

The raincoat fluttered around her legs as she strode down the corridor towards Paose’s mangled form. Kihri’s criticisms of the hasty plan hadn’t been entirely unfounded – if he’d moved the shirt the wrong way, if he’d noticed the second mine like they’d noticed his attempt at a double-blind. If he’d come through the wall instead of through the door, like he’d shown a habit of doing. Zarah hadn’t been able to refute any of them, but for one, they had been pressed for time. And for another, she just… _knew. _Not the initial bones of the idea, the structure – that part they came up with together, on the fly. But the details, those she could feel in her bones. Maybe she’d gotten a sense of him, now, maybe it was sheer blind confidence, but her hands had moved automatically to move the mine to where his foot would fall, to cast the sweatshirt over the second mine in a particular way.

If she’d been wrong, it could have been as catastrophic as Kihri had worried.

But she hadn’t been wrong.

Paose was sprawled out on the ruined floor of the corridor as she approached, trying fruitlessly to clamber to his feet. His ghostlight was gone, his clothes ruined, and every inch of the corridor that wasn’t utterly destroyed was covered in his blood or viscera. She could already see the exposed muscles fibres twisting and growing back together, but it was slow – definitely slower than her own regeneration, she could see now. White had started to fill back into his eye sockets, but his vision hadn’t returned yet, which made it pathetically easy for Zarah to haul him off his feet, holding him up in the air by his neck.

“Wait,” he managed to rasp through his ruin of a throat. “You didn’t-”

“No more talking,” Zarah said, and the hand around his throat exploded.

Paose was sent flying backwards down the corridor, reaching the end in an instant and smashing straight through it with a hoarse scream. Zarah staggered backwards, staring down at her hand. It had been absolutely ruined, skin and flesh peeled back like a flower unfurling, but it was already starting to stitch itself back together.

“Dude!” Kihri yelled. “What the fuck was that?!”

“Not sure,” Zarah responded as she moved to follow Paose’s flight path. “I could feel something, earlier, when I threw the grenade. I was trying to channel it again, but it did- that.”

Kihri whistled. “Good thing you can heal, then. Is it ghostlight?”

“Not sure. Does it matter?”

“Guess not. Give him hell, then.”

The brand-new hole at the end of the corridor led out into a large hall, floodlights reflecting off the glossy wooden floors. There was a stage at one end, chairs stacked against one of the walls and folding tables against the other. It was the latter that Paose had crashed into, a trail of blood spray across the floor serving to track his arc – the corridor had been two stories up, so Zarah was currently slightly closer to the rafters of the ceiling than the floor.

Without hesitating, she stepped off the edge, heartrate steady and calm.

Her raincoat caught the air as she fell, and slowly draped itself down over her as she landed, settling slightly onto the floor as she bowed her knees to take the impact. After all the experience she’d had with it over the last few days, she was starting to get the hang of taking a fall without just breaking her ankles and waiting for them to heal.

Then again, there probably wasn’t any amount of technique that could have made her fall from the Aruspex building less painful.

Paose’s upper body was still a wreck, head lolling oddly to the side, but his lower body had recovered enough to support him. The mangled visage of his face dropped into a snarl at the sight of her, and his corona flared, lighting up the hall in dim, ghostly illumination as blue threads began to spin themselves out of the air around him.

_No you don’t. _Without missing a step, Zarah swung her free hand behind her as she bent her legs and sprung forward. Like before, her hand exploded, but this time it catapulted her forward, almost perpendicular to the ground. It was the same trick she’d pulled in the morgue, but vastly more powerful now that she was doing it consciously rather than instinctively. As a tradeoff, though, her barely-healed hand was destroyed once more in a spike of pain, along with about half of her forearm.

She hit Paose shoulder-first, hard enough that a wet _crack_ echoed through the hall, followed immediately by a much heavier crunch as they both hit the reinforced concrete wall. Paose’s body protected her from the worst of the impact, but she felt her shoulder jar out of place, the bone cracking and splintering.

She staggered back, gritting her teeth against the pain as Paose’s aborted attempts at summoning ghostlight faded away around her. The man in question was more of a stain at this point, smeared into the cracks in the concrete, but already beginning to come back together. Zarah squinted, and after a moment, his shade flickered into view around his neck, the main body of the spectral corpse disappearing back into the wall and out of sight, which wouldn’t do at all.

Her first attempt at pulling him free failed when the arm she’d grabbed came off entirely with a sickening _squelch. _She tossed it to the side, flicking the blood off her hand with a grimace, and tried again, tearing out a few chunks of the concrete so she could get a better grip on his torso before levering him free with her hammer. He collapsed, but Zarah caught him before he could hit the ground, hooking the head of the hammer around his neck and pulling it back up, straight into the path of a punch with all her bodyweight behind it.

Or, a punch was what she’d intended, at any rate. But she’d forgotten about the damage she’d done to her hand earlier, and so instead of the collision of fist against face she was expecting, there was an almost-surprising _lack _of resistance, as the exposed, jagged end of her forearm bone speared straight through his mouth and out the back of his skull.

_Huh. _She’d been so focused that the pain had faded entirely, but it returned now, a dull throb that felt like it was coming from a hand that currently didn’t exist.

Still, she was nothing if not adaptable.

She let the hammer fall, freeing up her other hand, and focused her corona around it, not quite understanding what she was doing but trusting in her gut. It began to glow with blacklight, brighter and brighter, until it was almost hard to look at, and then she reached out and grabbed Paose’s shade with it.

Her hand closed around the corpse’s wrist, and met resistance. It had the same cool, dry texture as ghostlight normally did, but softer, closer to the give and density of actual flesh. Which was… unnerving. Her fingers dug in, tearing through the false flesh as she secured a grip on the formless mass beneath, and then she lifted her other arm, Paose’s head still impaled upon it.

Kihri would have said something.

She wasn’t Kihri.

The explosion tore through her arm, stripping it down to the elbow, but that was nothing compared to what it did to Paose. His head was completely obliterated, a thick mist of red and white filling the air as he shot backwards across the room. The shade stayed attached around his neck, but the arm Zarah was holding tore off, and almost immediately dissipated in her grasp, gone before Paose even hit the ground.

He rolled to a stop, and for a moment, the room was still and quiet. The shade had begun leaking, thick wisps pouring from the shoulder before fading away like the arm had. Paose wasn’t moving, but Zarah had to be sure – Kihri said to destroy the shade, and she’d only managed to wound it. It looked it to be destabilising on its own, and Paose didn’t seem to be healing, but it was better not left to chance. She picked up the hammer with her remaining hand, and managed to take two steps towards him before there was a loud _chunk_, and the floodlights blinded her as they turned on.

Zarah staggered back, trying to cover her eyes but forgetting that the hand she in question was currently in a fine particulate mist all throughout the room.

Still, her vision recovered almost alarmingly quickly, and she managed to locate the light switches, and with them, the new arrivals. A teacher, a young white man in a dull blazer and slacks with neatly-combed hair, and clustered behind him, a small group of students, more than a dozen but not by much. They all wore the same navy uniform, in various states of tidiness and disarray, and the expressions on their faces ranged from curious to fearful to excited.

Zarah looked down at herself. The right arm of her raincoat had been torn away up to the elbow, and arm below it was still in the active process of repairing itself, muscle fibers growing and twisting together even as she watched. Blood had splattered all over her clothes, and on the head of the hammer, and a few feet away lay a bloody and mutilated corpse, the head turned into a pulp.

Zarah looked back at them., and then the screaming started.

The teacher had gone ashen, and was frantically dialing at a phone, some of the students were yelling and pointing, and it was all too much, going from the sudden silence to this cacophony. She almost closed her eyes, hands raising to cover her ears, but something stopped her.

_They’re not pointing _at _me, _she realised, brain catching up with her instincts. _They’re pointing _behind _me. _She spun around, hammer coming up, and froze.

Paose’s body was hovering in the air, still mangled but healing rapidly. _Extremely _rapidly – far quicker than it had been before, far quicker even than Zarah’s own healing. The shade around his neck was still missing an arm, and was still leaking, looking thinner and weaker than it had before, but as Paose’s eyes returned, they were full of a manic, unstable rage.

He opened his mouth, and _screamed. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> we're caught up to the site, so new chapters going up here a week after they finish on the site. chapter eighteen is currently ongoing


	18. You’re Nobody ‘Til Somebody Wants You Dead

“Get away!” Zarah yelled frantically at the students. “Go, run!” She didn’t know what was happening, but the woman from before and all the bodies she’d found flashed through her mind. She had to get them away before Paose could get to them.

_If that even is Paose. _There was no… _spark _in his eyes, no ineffable something that distinguished a person and a moving corpse. Zarah had thought she’d killed him – the superstitious part of her mind was saying that she _had, _and so invited something worse in. And that scream…

It didn’t matter. All that mattered was putting him down, _properly _this time.

She stepped forward, hand raising up to unleash another explosion in his face, but her movements felt _slowed, _like moving through water rather than air, and the difficulty only grew as she pushed against it. As she struggled, red lines opened up on her skin and tears began to form in her clothes, and the source of her difficulty became visible.

Gossamer-thin threads of blue, so fine as to be almost invisible, filled the air, far too many to even begin to count. How they were holding Paose up, she had no idea – they looked so fragile and wispy that it seemed _more _absurd that they were doing so than that he was just floating on his own. They had wrapped around Zarah’s limbs, her body, the hammer – around _her_, restricting her movements and cutting into her skin like fishing wire. With a grunt of effort, she flared her corona and tore through them, finally managing to raise her hand and release the gathered energy.

There was no fire, no combustion – it was closer to something like a pressure cooker explosion, force tearing out from the inside. Through the gaps in her still-healing skin and muscles, she thought she saw the glimmer of something, something clear and gold underneath the red and white.

The explosion knocked Paose back slightly, a larger shard of bone ripping through the side of his throat. The wound patched over in seconds, though – barely enough time for it to even begin to bleed – thanks to his suddenly-increased healing. As an unexpected but welcome side effect of the explosion, the strands of ghostlight had been blown outwards and away by the gales of wind that it had unleashed, leaving the space between them clear.

Zarah took two steps forward, hammer already swinging in an overhead strike that caught Paose squarely in the stomach and dragged him down to the ground. It wasn’t as strong as it would have been with two hands, and so he didn’t seem to suffer any real damage when he hit the ground. That was easily remedied by a swift kick to the head, so fast that Zarah felt bone splinter under it, and something in Paose’s neck cracked sharply as it twisted.

Even as she did, though, even as his head was twisted around at an angle no person could possibly survive, one of his arms whipped up and grasped her ankle. Zarah barely had time to blink before she was hurtling across the room and smashing into the stacked chairs on the other side of the hall.

She groaned, chairs clattering down as she clambered to her feet. Paose was doing the same, and as the blue threads began to fill the air around him again, he _spoke. _

“None of you,” his voice rasped, barely recognisable in how damaged it was, “are leaving here. Not if I’m not.”

Then he turned away from her, and Zarah realised too late that the students had ignored her, were still clustered around the doorway.

“_GO!” _she screamed at the top of her lungs, the sound tearing out of her throat like the scream of wild animal. “_GET OUT!” _

She didn’t have time to see if they’d reacted, already forcing herself forward, forcing herself to _move, _to damnation with the pain. It took her moment to gather enough energy for another propelled leap, and it was weaker than the previous one, not throwing her nearly as fast. Paose had already reached the doorway, and the strangled sounds of screams chilled her to the bone as she arrived moments too late, hammer tearing through the threads as she crashed into him again.

A small part of her mind noted that she should really figure out a better way of attacking people than body-slamming them. Or, failing that, at least start wearing some padding.

The shoulder that had been wounded earlier must not have been fully healed, because it jarred out of place again at the impact, and Zarah bit down on a scream as the two of them tumbled to the ground. For what felt like the first time, she actually lost her grip on the hammer, and it clattered along the wooden floor, coming to a stop a bit further along than they had.

In every one of their encounters, Zarah had always been able to rely upon getting back on her feet quicker than Paose, and it was very uncomfortable to no longer have that advantage. She only just managed to roll out of the way of a blow that cracked the floor where it hit, scrabbling away on half-functioning limbs.

“Zarah, what’s- _Shit _on a _saint!” _Kihri’s face had popped out of the ground, but upon sighting Paose, her eyes went wide and she disappeared again. “What the fuck!”

“You said destroy the shade,” Zarah hissed at her. “I _destroyed the shade._” She knew that talking to thin air wasn’t going to help her standing with the students, but there were bigger concerns at the moment. “He is not looking dead, Kihri! He is-” she had to throw herself awkwardly out of the way of a lash from Paose’s wires, “-looking better than dead!”

“How the fuck should I know what’s going on?!” Kihri shot back. “Yes, I know you’re trying to spark a memory, it didn’t fucking work, shut up!”

Zarah managed to get to her feet just in front of the students, who-

“_WHICH PART OF ‘RUN’,” _she screamed furiously over her shoulder, “_IS NOT CLEAR?!”_

“W-we can’t go back that way,” the teacher stammered, and then Zarah ignored the rest as the wires started to constrict around her limbs and throat. Snarling, she tore through them with a surge of strength, but Paose was already upon her again, and as she got her first proper look at him in good lighting, she realised why Kihri had reacted so viscerally.

He was… _distorting, _was the only word she could find to describe it. Like light passing through a broken prism, shifting and changing as the source moved, he didn’t quite _line up_ anymore. Watching him move, it almost felt like she was looking at different parts of his body from slightly different angles, moving in slightly different directions, but never actually coming apart. It probably would’ve given her a headache, under other circumstances, but there were more pressing concerns – her impending transformation into a small pile of deli meat, for example.

Zarah growled, pushing back against the wires as her blacklight flared. She wasn’t actually certain where or when she’d figured out how to do that. Evidently, the supernatural weirdness she’d found herself embroiled in worked by sink or swim rules, and she’d been thrown in the deepest of deep ends.

It worked regardless, the wires breaking in a series of quiet _snaps _that formed an unsettling roll of noise when put together. Unfortunately, her moment of incapacitation had given Paose a free hit, and it was a surprise when he actually hit her with his own hand, instead of his ghostlight.

Or, tried to hit her, anyway. The first blow, a wild but powerful haymaker, came straight for her head, and Zarah couldn’t help but flinch away. Instead of the situation-ruining impact she’d been bracing for, though, what she got was something almost _pliable. _Like being hit in the head by a bucket of water, and stars know she’d had plenty of experience with that. It still cleaned her clock, but it was clear Paose hadn’t been expecting the result either, because as Kihri recovered, she found him hanging there, staring at the empty space that used to be his right hand.

His expression shifted, and blue ghostlight began to condense out of the air into the shape of a new hand, and then Zarah took advantage of his distraction to shove her hand against his chest and detonate it.

The wind that lashed out this time was almost like a gale force, whipping Zarah’s face back out of her hair and tearing gashes through her clothes in a few places, nicking the skin underneath. Paose was just _gone, _a cloud of dust at the other end of the corridor signalling where he’d taken out a door and a decent chunk of the wall with it.

For a moment, Zarah thought she could see a faint golden tint to the air before it faded away, the remnants of the golden light she’d spotted earlier.

It was ghostlight, she was almost certain now – whether the volatility was inherent or her own lack of control was a problem for another time. Right now, it was proving to be helpful, even at the cost of the use of one of her hands.

“What is back that way?” Zarah asked, turning to face the students. A few of them had gashes and torn clothes, and Zarah’s heart froze in her chest before she realised that the lacerations were too thin and too fine to have been caused by her ghostlight. Some of the wires must have gotten past her without her realising.

“W-who are you? What is happening?” the teacher stammered out, doing his best to put himself between Zarah and the students. Who, Zarah realised with a start, couldn’t have been more than a year younger than her. It was bizarre, and disconcerting, and more than a little uncomfortable.

“Does not matter,” she snapped. “What is back there.”

“Bombs,” one of the students piped up, sounding weirdly unaffected considering the subject matter. “And lots of that weird blue stuff.”

“And lots of blood,” another one added.

_What is wrong with these kids? _

“Are you a zombie?”

It took Zarah a second to realise the question was addressed at her. “No. Well, yes, but- no. Now is not the time.”

“_Coool._”

“_Not _cool,” Zarah snapped back.

“Eh, I dunno,” Kihri said from below her. “It’s a _little _cool.”

Zarah couldn’t even spare the energy to be properly irritated. “Where is fire exit?” she asked, turning back to the teacher.

He shook his head nervously. “T-the door was blocked off.”

Zarah hissed through her teeth. He’d obviously spent some time, making sure his _prey _couldn’t just run. With all his preparations, she’d couldn’t rely on them being able to get out on their own, which meant the best option was…

“This way,” she said, pointing in the direction she’d sent Paose flying. “Follow me, but stay behind.”

“We’re _following _that creep?!” It was the same student who’d told her about the bombs.

“_Yes,_” Zarah confirmed tersely, “because any traps, he would have set off on his way through. Stay. _Behind. Me._” She started down the corridor, and was pleased to hear a chorus of footsteps starting up after her.

Less pleasing was the louder set, hurrying up behind her. “But there could still be others-” the teacher started to say, before Zarah turned and shoved him back. She hadn’t done it very hard, but he still nearly fell.

“That is _why_,” she snapped, “I say _stay. behind._ If there is, I heal.” She held up her hand to demonstrate, as the last layer of skin began repairing.

“Totally a zombie.”

“Whichever one of you thinks they are clever,” Zarah said over her shoulder, “stop it.”

“Cute,” Kihri said, floating up to join her. “You have a plan.”

“No dying,” Zarah said. “No letting them die.”

“Not much of a plan.”

“You have better?”

“We-ell…” Zarah shot her a look. “No, not really.”

“Have you at least figured out why he is not dead?”

“I told you, Z. If I was gonna get anything, it would’ve happened.”

“Who are you talking to?” one of the students asked.

“No-one. Rude to interrupt. Sh.”

“Oh, yeah,” Kihri said, “that’s really confidence-inspiring.”

“…too late to use my phone?”

“Ohh yeah. Way too late.”

“Of course. What happens when you wound a shade but not destroy it?”

“Experiments haven’t reached that stage yet,” Kihri said automatically. Then, “Oh, you _bitch._”

“If we survive, I will apologise. She doesn’t know anything?”

“Not beyond ‘destroy the shade’, no.”

“That did not _work, _Kihri. It made him _stronger, _even.”

“Yeah, I fucking noticed! But I don’t know _why, _everything that I’ve been able to scrounge up says that he should…” Kihri’s eyes went wide. “Oh. Ohhhh. _Ohhhh._”

“Good ‘oh’ or bad ‘oh’?”

“Ehhhmm… well, the good news is that I’m pretty sure you _did _kill him.”

“Not _seeming _that way.”

“You killed him, but he hasn’t, uh. Realised it, yet?”

“That is _not _how it works.”

“Look, it’s- I’m figuring this out as I say it, okay! I’m _pretty sure _that this is just a death rattle. A very _loud _death rattle.”

“How sure is pretty?”

“…seventy percent?”

“Wonderful.”

They reached the end of the corridor, and its brand-new hole, with still no sign of Paose. It made Zarah antsy. With how quickly he healed now, he should’ve been back on them in no time at all. Zarah wasn’t naive enough to think he’d finally keeled over, which meant he was probably _trying _something.

Zarah was _very _sick of people _trying _things.

“You,” she said as they came to a stop, not looking back. “Teacher. Which way out.” She didn’t want to take her eyes off the hole, in case he came tearing out of it.

“That way. Uh, right, then left, then-”

“Not all at once. As we go. Is that to front exit.”

“Y-yes.”

“Is there another?”

“I-in the gates? No, but-”

“Yeah, there is.” It was the same student again. “Gates are bent out a bit at the back, across the oval.”

“_Mary,_” a few other voices cried in outrage and disappointment.

“Oh, I’m sorry,” Apparently-Mary said, “would you prefer we _died?!_”

“I _like _her,” Kihri said appreciatively.

_No surprises there. _“Which way to that?”

“Still right,” Mary answered over the teacher’s protests, “but different from there. Also, can we call you something? Like, a name or whatever?”

Zarah shrugged one shoulder. “‘You’ works.” If something was going to happen, it probably would’ve by now, but she kicked a piece of rubble through the other room, just in case. “Move past me, wait there.” She didn’t want someone getting grabbed from behind, now that they were no longer sure where Paose was.

A student with curly dark hair was one of the last past, and the look she gave Zarah had the least fear out of any of them. Zarah had an instinct as to who she was, and it was only confirmed when she spoke.

“How’s ‘Yellow’?” Mary said, slight grin twitching at the corner of her mouth.

“…pardon?”

“Something to call you. ‘You’ seems a bit. Well, bad. Ooh, Sunshine, maybe?”

The noise that Kihri made at that could only be generously described as a laugh. It made Zarah think of a hyena more than anything else.

“You are very… chipper,” Zarah noted instead of responding, gesturing the group onwards. She’d intended it to be a conversation-ender, as she moved up to the front again, but the girl followed her up.

“Oh, don’t get me wrong,” she said, hanging at the very front of the group, _just _far away enough that Zarah didn’t think she could call her on it. “I’m _terrified, _absolutely shitting my pants.” She gave a strained little laugh, as if to demonstrate. “This is just how I get. Left up here, then second door on the right, by the way."

After a moment’s consideration, she tore it off its hinges (which once again took more effort than she’d expected it would), and tossed it through the opening. It bounced and skidded for a few meters, and then disappeared with a deafening roar as some kind of trap was set off.

Zarah winced, as a chorus of cries of alarm sounded out behind her. If Paose hadn’t already known where they were, he did now.

“How did you do that?” Mary asked, sounding awed but genuinely curious.

“Long story,” Zarah grunted.

“Can I get the short version?”

Zarah glanced over, and found the girl flashing a cheeky grin at her.

Zarah met her gaze. “Magic,” she said, completely flat.

“…okay, I probably should’ve seen that coming. The medium version?”

“Weird magic.”

“Does it have something to do with that?” She pointed at the hammer.

“No,” Zarah replied. “Glowy magic hammer is unrelated.”

“What, really?! How- Oh. You’re making fun of me, aren’t you.”

“Yes, I am.” She turned to the rest of them. “You see anything,” she instructed, “you scream, loud as you can. Keep an eye on each other.”

“This isn’t a horror movie, Zarah,” Kihri said.

“I would not,” Zarah muttered under her breath, “be putting it past him.”

“…point.”

The students, lacking Kihri’s innate disrespect of her, obeyed as they moved forward, following Mary’s directions. At first, Zarah rubbernecked back and forth to keep an eye on them, until Kihri promised to stick around and watch them while Zarah searched for traps.

They found three more on their way out – one more explosive, and two made out of blue ghostlight. The first was simple, a series of razor-thin wires stretched across a corridor, only visible when the light caught them and where dried blood seemed to hang in midair. There were bloodstains on the floor and walls as well, but no bodies. Zarah tried not to think about it too much, as she tore through them with the hammer.

The second one was… stranger. Divots had been carved out of the ground, and blue ghostlight sat placidly inside it. There was no glow of blacklight around them, so they weren’t being actively manipulated, but when Zarah tapped it cautiously with the hammer, it instantly shot upwards, forming into spikes and nearly ripping the hammer from her grasp.

Getting everyone through would have been tricky, and destroying it might’ve had unexpected consequences, so instead Zarah busted a hole in the wall to the next room and led everyone around it entirely.

When they reached an exterior exit and Paose _still _hadn’t reappeared, Zarah was beginning to grow worried. _More _worried. Going outside into the rain felt like a bad idea, but staying wasn’t an option either. Plus, she’d probably have a pretty hard time selling the others on it.

The rain lashed against their skin as they stepped outside, sending up a hum of miserable noises from the others. Zarah wasn’t particularly comfortable herself, but at the very least, it was serving to wash away the blood and dust that had covered her.

“God,” she heard Mary say. “So there _is _a person underneath there.”

“Are you ever shutting up?” Zarah asked, but with no real malice to it.

A chorus of resounding ‘no’s from the rest of the group answered that question.

“Aww,” Mary said with a grin in her voice, “you love it.”

_She’s as bad as Kihri. _Worse, _even, because she’s actually distracting me. _“Which way?” Zarah cut in, glancing over her shoulder.

“Like I said, across the field.” Mary pointed towards the other end of the large patch of lawn. The rain wasn’t as bad as before and visibility was _better_, but she still couldn’t see much past the halfway point of the stands. She suspected that the others wouldn’t even be able to see that much.

“Okay,” she said, walking back over to the group. “This is still danger. We- why did you all just do that.”

The vast majority of the group had done a double-take or flinched as she returned.

“Your, uh,” Mary pointed. “Your hair.”

_My… _Zarah lifted a strand, confused until she saw the last bits of blood and dust washing off of it. _Oh. Oh._

She closed her eyes, took a deep breath. “We have a problem?” she asked, as civilly as she could manage in the moment.

That is to say, not very.

“N-no,” the teacher said, “n-no problem. We just hadn’t- you didn’t- it wasn’t-”

_Sure. _

Zarah couldn’t help but glance at Mary. She’d half-expected an eyeroll or some kind of gesture putting down the rest of the group – the girl had been trying pretty hard to ingratiate herself.

Instead, she got an awkward glance, and the mouthed words “I’m sorry”. It was… better than the alternative.

_Sure she’s just _trying, _Zarah?_

“Keep an eye out,” she instructed the group as they moved away from the building. “Same as before.”

“What am I?” Kihri said. “Chopped liver?”

“If I am telling _you _to be wary,” Zarah said, flat, “then things are very wrong.”

“True enough.”

The rain grew more intense, no longer being partially obstructed, and Zarah had to keep pushing her hair out of her eyes. She was… _fairly _sure she’d had it up before.

“Here.” Mary half-shouted over the drum of the rain, handing her an elastic. “I keep a couple of spares.”

“…thanks.” Putting her hair up was slightly awkward while holding the hammer, but she eventually tucked it under her arm while she got it done.

The grounds of the field were marshy, squelching under their feet, mud seeping into shoes. For Zarah, it didn’t particularly matter – she’d already gotten as soaked as was basically possible, and the rain kept the mud away fairly well. Didn’t seem like the others were having a particularly fun time, but-

Like before, it wasn’t any kind of concrete sign that warned her; no flash of movement out of the corner of her eye, no noise heard through the rain.

Maybe before all this, she’d have chalked it up to her subconscious processing things she wasn’t consciously aware of, but… it had the same _feel _as everything else that had been happening.

This was something else, and it was telling her that she needed to _move. _

“RUN!” Zarah bellowed at the top of her lungs, for what felt like the hundredth time that night. “FENCE, KEEP GOING.” Crude even for her, but it got them moving.

Mary, inexplicably, gave her a thumbs-up and a shaky grin as she turned back towards the school, which was…

Which was, Zarah decided as she reached into the pocket of her raincoat, something to process _later. _They’d made it far enough from the buildings for the rain to obscure them beyond abstracted gaps in the lights of the city beyond them, and so when Zarah threw the object she’d retrieved out into the night, it should have been a completely blind guess.

As she watched the grenade sail through the air into the oncoming glow of blacklight, Zarah Vyas came to the conclusion that the last few days had completely robbed ‘should’ of any meaning.

The grenade detonated in Paose’s face, briefly overpowering nature’s wrath as the shockwave created a thick, stinging spray, followed by a brief bubble of calm. Then the rain returned, the smoke washed away almost instantly, leaving behind a grisly sight.

Paose had _splattered. _

Not like a human, not like meat and bone, but like a _liquid. _His legs were mostly intact, but they were fully blue now, the distortion present before having progressed to a degree that made them actively hard to look at. The rest of his body was just _gone, _but not gone _far – _blobs of glue ghostlight, like water in zero gravity, hung at various distances around him, all with that same head-splitting distortion. And, as Zarah watched, they all began to reverse course, reforming Paose’s body as they splashed and flowed together.

“Well, that’s just fucking gross,” Kihri said, which Zarah didn’t really have a counter to.

Reconstituted, it was even more obvious how much worse Paose’s state had gotten. Zarah could barely even make out his face, and, well. She could see _through _him. Before, he’d looked bad, but still as if he was a human being. Now, he looked more like some construct of blue ghostlight – without the distortion, there was no way Zarah would have guessed he was a person.

The hovering didn’t help with that, either. She had the horrifying thought that he could _fly _now, until she managed to spot the wires again. Once she knew they were there, they were actually _more _visible than they had been inside, the faint glow of blacklight around them serving to illuminate them now that it was no longer overwhelmed by other light sources. It also served to faintly reveal what the thousands of filament-thin wires were carrying, and Zarah’s breath froze in her throat.

Explosives.

_Lots _of explosives.

While they’d made their way outside, he must have gone around and gathered everything he’d rigged around the school. Which, on one hand, made it much safer in the long term.

On the other, it made things much _less _safe for Zarah in the short term.

“Well,” Kihri said, trying for glib and failing miserably, “uh. Good luck with that!”

Zarah couldn’t even bring herself to be mad at her sister as she disappeared through the ground. She was envious, if anything.

“I’d like to have something to say here,” and oh _saints _was his voice disturbing, like a robot made out of meat, all wet and garbled, “but you know what? I’ve got nothing. Just _die_.”

“You first,” Zarah said, and dropped to one knee. Paose moved as well, the wires and explosives beginning to whip towards her, but her hand was already buried in the dirt, and she didn’t hesitate to detonate it.

She was flung backwards and to the side, in what was _at best _a controlled tumble if one was being generous. Some of the dirt and grass came with her, but most had sprayed forward, obscuring her for the few moments before the first of the explosives hit, a rolling wave of detonations like an artillery bombardment. She skidded, heels digging into the mud, and bounded forward again as Paose came tearing through the smoke. The threads were already swinging towards her, but she’d moved inside their effective range, and the seconds he had to take in order to adjust for that were enough to get in close.

No fancy tricks this time – she’d only had the one grenade and one mine, anyway. Hammer, one-handed overhead swing, straight to the chest, no frills. It actually hit, too, like his body was still made out of something solid instead of splattering like it did with the explosive.

It sent him crashing down into the mud, wires rippling with the impact but remaining irritatingly extant. Would have been too much to hope that they would have disappeared, apparently. Zarah landed on top of him, and while his chest was still re-compositing itself out of threads of ghostlight, smashed his head in like a pumpkin.

The brief respite had finally given her a moment to think, to process his whole… _deal. _It was the same problem as before, really, just on a larger scale – she could hurt him, but not permanently. Before, she’d been at least able to put him down for a few moments, and she’d had a goal, a win condition. Now, he healed so fast that he was back on his feet in seconds, and her win-condition had been decidedly… not that. All she had now was guesswork and intuition – but then again, intuition had carried her surprisingly far that evening. And what her _intuition _was telling her currently was that his healing wasn’t infinite, _couldn’t _be infinite. Every time he used it, it had to be draining some kind of resource, and when he ran out, hopefully he’d finally give up the ghost and _die_ already.

So in that spirit, Zarah reached down, grabbed one of Paose’s arms and tore it clean off his body. Replacing an entire limb was probably harder than stitching one back on, she reckoned, so she tossed it off to the side and did the same to the other one. His head had pretty much reformed by that point – enough to start making noise, at any rate – so she did that one too, and was about to get started on the legs when everything went white.

Another difference she’d failed to account for: that disabling Paose’s body might no longer affect his ability to act.

At the bottom of a brand-new crater formed by the grenade that had just detonated on top of both of them, Paose’s body began reforming, the process looking halfway between flesh and blood and the liquid-like splatter of before. He began to lift off the ground before the process was even finished, rising limp into the air as chunks and viscera flowed back into place, melding together seamlessly. A shiver seemed to pass through him, and he lifted his head, glancing around as the various wires and tendrils snaked down from the edge of the crater to reconnect to his form.

“Don’t suppose you’d have the courtesy of being blown into a fine powder,” Paose’s unearthly voice said. It was growing shakier, fading in and out like TV static. “Would really _make _my _day._”

He moved forward, up and over the lip of the crater, preparing a few more of his dwindling supply of explosives. There was a flicker of motion and colour, off to the side, and he pivoted on it instantly, grenades and mines flying forward to create a rolling wave of destruction and flying clumps of earth.

Once again, the rain washed away the smoke almost instantly, revealing the uneven craters left behind, and the distinct lack of corpses. A moment later, small scraps of fabric began floating down out of the air. Paose caught one and held it up to the light, revealing it to be a piece of a bright yellow raincoat.

There was a sound that might have been speech before it had been mangled by his current state. He didn’t let go of the scrap, but his entire form flickered and destabilised for a second, letting it pass through his grip before he recovered.

In an instant, sudden and jarring, he spun around, wires turning after him like a vortex, bombarding the flash of light that had appeared behind him for just an instant. This time, there was no stagger, no delay – just the blinding white, eardrum-destroying roar of half a dozen pieces of high explosive going off simultaneously. The shockwave was strong enough to disturb Paose’s form for a moment, distorting it as the rain and dirt were propelled away from the blast.

“…typical.”

In the centre of the crater, the hammer sat, glowing softly with refracted light. It would have been more dramatic if it had remained upright – but that would have been wildly improbable, and it lay on its side instead.

Paose descended down into the crater, flickering and glitching so heavily as he moved that he more resembled a series of still images in rapid succession than an actual moving object. A series of now-unhindered wires wrapped around the handle of the hammer and lifted it up into the air, bringing it closer to him. Then, halfway there, he stopped, and shook the hammer vigorously. Only when he was satisfied there was nothing attached to it did he continue to bring it to him-

-only to find that it wouldn’t move. It was _trying _– some of the wires were pulling it in the right direction, but some of them were pulling off to the side instead, the ends that extended beyond where they were wrapped around the hammer disappearing over the lip of the crater.

Paose lifted himself back up above the crater, spinning towards the direction the wires were being pulled-

-and found nothing there.

In the low lighting, the glow of blacklight made it difficult to see anything that was in the shadows. Not _impossible, _there was too much ambient light for that, but _difficult. _

And while it seemed very unlikely that Paose could stop drawing on blacklight in his current state, Zarah had no such difficulty.

She was bleeding, and limping, her clothing torn half to shreds, and missing most of one arm, but she was on her feet and mobile, and more importantly, had been given a solid chunk of time in which to operate unhindered. She had collected a handful of the wires, wrapped loosely around her fist, and had pinned them to the ground with one foot. And, while Paose was still trying to find her in the darkness, she yanked them backwards, pulling him forward and down into the ground. She felt a quick sting of pain as a few of the wires sliced through the bottom of her shoe and into her foot, but it was a small price to pay.

She did tap into the blacklight then, as she lifted her foot off the wires and grabbed them with both hands, stepping back until they drew taut then turning the motion into the beginnings of a spin. There was an odd, jerky resistance at first as he dragged through the mud and dirt, but after he cleared it, Zarah was able to smoothly turn him into the world’s largest hammerthrow weight. She could have laughed, under different circumstances – there was something almost comical about it, spinning him around like they were children playing a game.

Of course, the thought of children quickly jumped to the bodies, to the students, and any humour was sapped from her in an instant.

Whether motion sickness and dizziness was still a factor could go either way – she could feel the beginnings of it setting in around the edges, albeit not nearly as fast as it might ordinarily, but Paose was another thing entirely. Either way, it made for as good a sign as any, and Zarah started adjusting the angle of her swings, tilting up on one side and down on the other, until-

The sudden lack of weight on the end of the wires as Paose impacted the ground was enough to make Zarah overbalance, and she spun two or three more times before getting her feet under her. The world continued to turn slightly past her as she stopped, but equilibrium returned quickly, and she dashed over to the long divot carved out of the ground, to the glow of blacklight spilling over where it terminated. She leapt into the air, hammer raised in one hand-

-and Paose surged upwards and caught her, one hand around her throat, and the other holding back the hammer.

“Learn a new trick,” he snarled.

“You first,” Zarah gasped, and shoved her other hand forward, detonated it-

-and a thick ball of blue ghostlight surrounded it just as she did.

Her hand still detonated, but the sound and fury were muffled as the ghostlight took the brunt of the force, shooting outwards in a stinging spray that tore strips off of Zarah’s face. That was the extent of the damage, though, and wires wrapped around that arm, rendering it immobile.

“Good advice,” Paose’s inhuman voice ground out, only inches from her face. “In fact, you’ve given me some _inspiration.”_

His hand closed around her shade, one of the spikes of rebar that stuck upwards from her shoulder, and wrenched it to the side.

Zarah screamed, and in the back of her mind, she could hear her sister’s anguished cry alongside it. It felt… utterly indescribable. Like her soul, her very self, was being slowly torn in half.

“Not _fun, _is it?” He jerked the piece of rebar again, back in the other direction, and Zarah let out another strangled howl of anguish. “That’s just a fucking _fraction _of what you did to me, you _rat_. And I intend to-”

Zarah spat in his face.

His head tilted to the side, and he watched her silently for a moment.

“Your funeral,” his garbled voice ground out.

Zarah murmured something.

“Sorry?” he said, leaning in closer and grinding her shade to the side again. “I didn’t quite _hear _that.”

“I said,” Zarah panted, “yours. First.”

He froze, then slowly looked downwards.

With Zarah’s last scream covering the sound, a tendril had torn straight through the middle of Paose’s chest, formed around the ruined wasteland of Zarah’s left hand. The golden threads of light that twined around each other to form it, everything Zarah had been able to gather, were shaking and bristling.

And, impaled on the very tip of the spike, was the last remaining scrap of his shade, the tiny scrap hidden inside his torso that Zarah had been forced to get up close to find.

“Oh, you little guttersh-”

The spike detonated.

Zarah’s world went blurry as she was flung backwards and away, searing pain lashing across the entire front of her body like fire. Compared to the soul-wrenching pain of having her shade damaged, though, it was barely noticeable – more than anything, she felt woozy, disconnected from her own body in a way that felt more tangible than it ever had before.

She barely even noticed hitting the ground, rolling and tumbling limply through the mud before coming to a stop. All she could see was mud, and she could distantly taste some of it too. Sensations, the patter of the rain on her back and the searing pain across her front, registered with her, but didn’t seem very relevant or important. Neither did the burning pain in her chest, until it started growing worse and the edges of her vision began to grey out.

_Oh, yes. Breathing. That’s a thing that I need to do._

She directed her lungs to take a deep breath, but found them confounded as the taste of mud in her mouth grew more prominent.

_Arms. Okay. _After a few seconds, she directed her arms to push her up off the ground. Only one of them actually worked, the other just slipping through the mud with a distant spike of pain, but she nevertheless managed to flip herself over onto her back, taking a deep, shuddering breath.

The rain pelted down from above, stinging at her face and eyes.

“Zarah? Zarah!”

Zarah blinked slowly, registering the voice calling out to her. How long had she been lying there?

“I know you’re alive, you asshole! Stop ignoring me!”

That voice was… her sister. Right.

“Kihri,” she said.

“Yes, that’s me, well done. Are you like, here? Cause you kinda seem like you’re… not. That.”

“Mm,” Zarah said slowly, lifting a hand and waving it back and forth. “<Maybe. I don’t know.> I feel all… not <together>. Bad.”

“Yeah, no kidding. This is probably what you look like drunk, huh?”

A thought flashed through Zarah’s mind, and she jerked upright. Or, up_wards. _She didn’t quite make it all the way, and sort of flopped bonelessly back down. “Him. Kihri, the… <is he dead? The man, the… the> tendril <man>.”

“Well, he’s _gone, _so I’m gonna say… yes.”

“Gone? Gone where.”

“Gone nowhere. Or, onto the next life if you’re into that sort of thing. He kind of… _pssht,_” she made a gesture with both hands, “came apart.”

“_Pssht,_” Zarah imitated. “Good. He was… ugh. <Sewer water person>.”

“Okay, this is starting to go from funny to worrying. You need to get it together, Z. This is _not _the best place for a nap.”

A nap _did _sound pretty good. But as her sister spoke, more and more details of their situation floated up to the surface, and her thoughts started to become a bit less muddy.

“Ha,” she said out loud. “Muddy.”

A _bit. _

“Uh, yeah, dude, it sure is. Come on, can you… oh, wait. Reach out your left hand, Zarah. Can you do that for me?”

Zarah hummed in agreement, flopping her left arm outwards. Her wrist hit something solid, and she flinched, but there was something familiar about it, and within seconds, she was able to identify it as the hammer. _Her _hammer.

“Oh-kay, that… _looks _like it did something? You’re glowing a lot brighter, at least.”

“Mrgh,” Zarah agreed, pushing herself up slowly. Her head was clearing more rapidly now, but that brought with it the return of the searing pain in her… well, in her _soul. _Her physical injuries were rapidly closing over, but that indescribable ache remained. No supernatural shortcuts there, she supposed.

After a few moments, she was able to shift the hammer over into her lap, and found herself almost cradling it. How it had become such a source of comfort in such a short time, she wasn’t sure.

“He is dead?” she asked after a few moments.

Kihri, floating a few feet away, perked up – something in her voice must have shown that she was back to her senses.

“Like I said, babes,” Kihri said, swooping over, “_pssht. _Harder to get deader than that. You, uh. You handling that okay?”

Zarah leaned back slightly, looking up at the cloud-covered sky above. Paose was dead, and she felt nothing.

No. No, she wouldn’t allow herself that out. _She _had killed Paose. It didn’t simply _happen, _it was something she’d _done. _And she felt… _fine. _

“Mm,” she said after a moment. “Tired.”

“…really? That’s it? I’m not defending him, that dude had to fucking die, but you just _killed _a man, and all you feel is… _tired?!”_

Zarah pursed her lips, considering.

“…_very _tired,” she amended.

Kihri stared at her for a moment, before the corner of her mouth twitched up, and she broke down laughing.

Zarah laughed too, leaning back and letting the water run down her face as she tilted it backwards. She laughed and laughed and laughed, long after the humour had run out, long after Kihri had stopped.

“<I’m not okay,>” she said through the laughter, tears dripping down her cheeks. “<I’m _really _not okay, Kihri. Not at all.>”

“Yeah,” her sister said, wrapping her arms around herself and looking away. “Yeah, I know.”

The laughter faded into chuckles, and Zarah just stared up at the sky. There were no stars visible, but she imagined she could see them anyway, tiny pinpricks through the clouds.

“<I’m sorry,>” she said after a while.

“…I appreciate that,” Kihri replied cautiously. “Wanna be more specific?”

“<…that’s fair. I’m sorry for… all of it. How I’ve handled this whole situation. You were absolutely right, before, and I said I listened to you and then I went ahead and did exactly what you were worried about. So… I’m sorry.>”

“…apology accepted. But, like… you know it’s not the sort of thing you can just _decide _to fix, right? You say that now, when you’re still a bit whacked-out on adrenaline and dopamine, but what about later? When something else happens, and you _know _something else is going to happen. You’ve still got all these bad habits you’re going to fall back on->”

“<Bad habits that kept me _alive,_>” Zarah said, irritation breaking through her exhaustion.

“Fine, _unhealthy _habits, that are going to get you _killed. _You need to do some work, Zarah, while in you’re in better headspaces, so that you’re prepared-”

“<If you’re about to suggest I see a therapist,>” Zarah cut in, “<this conversation is over.>”

“Oh, I fucking _wish _that was actually a realistic possibility, but no. I just want you to agree to-”

She went silent, and Zarah glanced down to find her utterly still, face frozen, eyes wide with fear. Then her form flickered, and disappeared entirely.

“Kihri?” Zarah asked, scrambling to her feet, hammer in her hands. “Where-”

“So you _did _survive,” an unfamiliar voice said from behind her. “I had my hopes, but it didn’t seem likely towards the end.”

She was white, on the short end of average height, with the sort of stocky build of someone who’d probably be a fair hand at manual labour if they ever tried it. Her fine blonde hair was pinned back in a no-nonsense ponytail, a few wispy strands escaping near her temples to frame a blocky, unremarkable face. A wide mouth sat below a thin, arched nose, and her brown eyes were worn and cold. The heavy lines around her eyes and brow made her age hard to guess – she could have been a healthy mid-forties, a rough late-twenties, or anywhere in-between. Her shirtwaist was a dark grey, with a shiny silver scarf hanging like a tie around the neck, and her billowy pants ended just above low-cut boots.

Zarah felt the woman’s eyes sweep over her, and a chill ran down her spine. There was nothing behind those eyes, just cold calculation, an abacus making tallies out of the world.

“You’d be the girl, then,” she said, walking forward. “He never did give me a name, which is about typical.” As she stepped out from cover, blacklight began to glow around her, and a red umbrella crystallised into existence in her hand, quickly adjusting its shape to keep the rain off her. “Presumably, there’s no need for me to introduce myself?”

Zarah froze, glancing back between her and the ghostlight umbrella. She’d never met this woman before, she was fairly certain, but she did seem somewhat familiar…

_The picture. The one on-_

_Oh._

_Oh, fuck._

“Mm,” Yanis Metzin said. “I thought as much.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next Chapter: 28/04/2020


	19. Wheels

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the king is dead; long live the king

“I’m assuming Tierron is dead?” Metzin asked.

“…who?” Zarah asked slowly. Her brain hadn’t quite caught up to the situation, and she hadn’t been lying, before – she was _tired, _both physically and mentally. Thinking felt like dragging herself through thick mud, and the pull of gravity seemed more irresistible than ever.

Metzin’s lips pursed. “Ah, yes. I guess there’s no real reason you’d have known his name. The man you were fighting earlier, with the goatee.”

_Paose. She’s talking about Paose. _

“Yes,” she confirmed, not seeing the point in lying. “I killed him.”

She’d been expecting some kind of reaction to that – they had been… allies? Partners? They had known each other and worked together, in some fashion.

Metzin, though, just nodded.

“Understandable,” she said. “It’s hardly a surprise that his poor decision-making would eventually catch up with him.”

Zarah narrowed her eyes. “You… are not angry.”

“Why would I be?” Metzin asked, raising an eyebrow in the closest thing to an emotion that Zarah had seen from her so far. “Did Tierron give you the impression that I would?”

“…no,” Zarah replied cautiously. “I am just… surprised.”

“Mm. Then, for your information, I didn’t have any particular fondness for him. He was an irritating psychopath, and a _stupid _one besides. Frankly, I was expecting him to get himself killed much sooner than this.”

“Then why are you work with him?”

“_‘Did_ you work with him’,” Metzin corrected idly. “Because he was useful enough to counterbalance some of those factors, for a time.”

“Useful for _what_?”

Metzin stared at her for a moment, eyes calculating. “It’s interesting,” she said at last, “how _little _you know.”

“…pardon?”

“Not as an insult, I mean. Just that you’ve gotten very tangled up in my affairs recently, and yet when I finally meet you, it turns out to be mostly _accidental._”

“…what is your point?”

She shrugged one shoulder. “No point, just… musing aloud. Revising some assumptions, I suppose. I’d been planning on having a very different conversation to this one.”

“You planned for _this_?”

Metzin’s eyes fixed Zarah in place.

“I plan for many things,” she said. No malice, no heat, just absolute surety that was somehow scarier by far. “As soon as I became aware that Tierron was planning _this, _it was fairly clear that our arrangement was over. He’d attracted far too much attention, not to mention all this _pointless _slaughter.”

The words should have been reassuring, but something about the emphasis she put on ‘pointless’ set Zarah on edge.

“What would you do, if he had won?” she asked.

“Killed him, obviously. Thank you for that, by the way, it was very well done. A bit sloppy in places, but that can be forgiven on account of inexperience.”

This entire conversation was _baffling. _

“You are welcome,” Zarah said slowly. “I think.”

Metzin nodded.

“Walk with me,” she said, gesturing off to the side. “We should have a conversation.”

“And if I say no?”

For just a moment, the air between them was filled with a veritable constellation of red ghostlight, tiny pinpricks that started to connect and join together with startling speed. Then they disappeared again, and Zarah let out the breath she hadn’t realised she was holding.

“I would recommend against that,” Metzin said.

Zarah started walking.

Metzin fell into step with her, and within seconds, the umbrella she held expanded to cover Zarah as well, plates of red ghostlight sliding out of the air as others dissipated away, a surprisingly intricate set of supports forming to hold them up.

“I believe that it’s always worth doing things properly, if you’re going to do them at all,” Metzin began. The drum of the rain against the umbrella was strange, closer to the sound of a roof than fabric or tarpaulin. “For example, this construct. Hypothetically, I could have made a set of basic shapes that would have served the purpose fine, but become structurally unstable when not held in this specific situation. But I find that… distasteful. This umbrella, as I have made it, could continue to be functional and stable long after I am done with it.”

To demonstrate, she took a hold of the locking mechanism at the top of the pole and slid it down slightly, causing the hinges and poles to shift accordingly before she returned it to the locked position.

“It’s not as complicated, obviously, but that hammer is another example.” Metzin said it casually, almost dismissively, but Zarah’s hands clenched around the handle. “Based on Tierron’s description, you of all people should understand how well it has continued to function beyond its original purpose.”

“Which was killing people.”

“Which was being able to generate a larger amount of force than I could on my own as both a flat crushing impact and a sharp piercing one, actually. Plenty of the tests were on flat planes of ghostlight or other materials, but I don’t suppose you’d have seen those, so I can forgive the mistake.”

“Jona Mehrvitz,” Zarah said flatly. “Was he ‘other materials’?”

Metzin actually seemed to consider the question. “Technically, by the end, a good portion of him _was _ghostlight, yes.”

“You know that is not what I mean.”

“Do I?” she countered. “_Say_ what you mean, then.”

Zarah ground her teeth. “Why did you kill him?”

“Your phrasing implies it was the intent. I’d have preferred not to – in fact, nothing would have made me happier.”

“And yet.”

“And yet,” she acknowledged. “I don’t suppose you understood much of that cache that you dug up, did you?”

Somehow, Zarah wasn’t surprised she knew about that as well. “Not much. You are trying to recreate that arm, but… not much.”

Metzin made a pleased little hum.

“Good, good. Yes, that was the main purpose. I’ve made quite a few interesting discoveries as a side effect, but the goal has always been to recreate Subject One’s altered physiology in a live subject.”

“You wanted him to live so you would experiment on him more,” Zarah said flatly.

“Yes, exactly. 341 was the closest I’ve come yet, by a significant margin. I admit I may have been… overenthusiastic, when signs of progress began to show. Usually, I terminate attempts much sooner, but in this case, I didn’t want the loss of progress that would come from a new subject.”

Zarah stared out at the field, fingernails digging into her palms. Every word out of the woman’s mouth made her sick to her stomach, and it was all she could do not to scream, or attack her, or both.

“Subjects,” she said quietly. “Meaning people.”

“Well, yes. Was that not clear? My apologies, then.”

They seemed to be heading towards the edge of the school grounds, in a different direction to the one the students had gone in. That was some small comfort, at least, knowing they weren’t likely to run into them again.

“P- Tierron, he was finding you people.”

“Yes, precisely. Those who wouldn’t be missed, ideally, but I mostly left that part up to his discretion, which, in hindsight, was a mistake. It was my belief he had certain predilections outside of that, but at the start of our agreement, it was with the understanding that they would take the place of those. Sadly, it seems that they were in addition instead, and I take responsibility for the oversight.”

“So that only the _right kind _of people you are killing,” Zarah spat.

“Ah, I think you’ve maybe misinterpreted me there. By that, I don’t mean homeless people as a category – only those who were likely to perish anyway, as well as others whose deaths I judged would not incite much attention or care.” Her lips curled up in distaste. “Mr. Mehrvitz was one such example; _far _too fond of betting on dogfights, that man.”

“..why do you care?”

“I dislike unnecessary suffering,” she answered frankly. “I dislike unnecessary _anything, _really.”

“So the torturing to death was _necessary_?”

“It was not _torture,_” Metzin snapped. “The intent was not to cause or extend pain, and I administered as high a dose of painkillers as possible without disrupting the integrity of the experiments.”

“That is…” Zarah growled, waving her hands incoherently. “Animal talk. ‘As high as possible’ is not ‘enough’.”

“…I assume you mean ‘weasel words’?”

“That is what I said, stop deflecting. They were in pain.”

“Not _in _pain,” Metzin said curtly. “There _was _pain, but-”

“Stop!” Zarah yelled, coming to a stop. Metzin halted a few steps ahead of her, turning to face her with an inscrutable expression. “Just stop! You are correct this, ‘actually’ that, and act like you are okay because of it! You took people without them wanting, and did painful experiments on them, and it is not suddenly okay because you are not thinking of it as ‘torture’!”

She was outside the shelter of the umbrella again, and a few stands of wet hair had fallen in front of her face as the rain drummed against her skull.

Metzin stared at her for a few moments, completely silent, gears churning behind her eyes. Zarah tensed, bracing herself for the fight she’d just started.

“…you’re right,” Metzin said slowly.

Zarah blinked. She hadn’t been expecting _that. _“…what?”

“You’re right,” Metzin repeated. “You’re absolutely right. The semantics don’t change the actions and the results, and it was small-minded of me to act like they did. You have my apologies.”

“…that is not sounding like you regret it.”

“Oh, I regret many things. Tierron’s involvement, as I said already. Early methods that were unproductive and unnecessarily brutal. Too many others to count. But… yes. I still believe in what I’m doing, and I would do it again.”

She gestured, and Zarah cautiously followed as they started moving once more.

“Which is being… _what, _exactly?”

Metzin’s eyes sparked with real and genuine excitement, the most emotion Zarah had seen from her so far.

“_Progress,_” she said. “Not just the interminable crawl of incremental improvement, but a genuine, unalloyed _breakthrough._ Subject One contradicts _everything _we know about ghostlight. Circumventing post-generative inertia could _revolutionise _dozens of industries. And genuine functioning biological infusion? I can’t even begin to imagine the things the medical profession could do with that.”

“…am I supposed to be knowing any of that meanings.”

Metzin frowned, her stride thrown off. “Ah, yes. You’re a local, aren’t you. I won’t say the Chival’s little enclave hasn’t been useful for me, but it can be frustrating as well.”

_Chival… didn’t Remy mention that name? _She didn’t think she’d get a productive answer if she asked Metzin about it.

“Suffice to say,” Metzin continued, “that if I am successful, the world will be made drastically better in almost every way.”

“And if you are _not, _you will have killed _many _people for no reason.”

“Nothing is without risk,” she said, almost breezily, and Zarah saw red for a moment, before getting herself under control.

It didn’t slip Metzin’s gaze, though. “I take it you disagree?”

“…it is not _maths,_” Zarah hissed. “There is no… it is…” She growled, frustrated. “It has been,” she said slowly, “the _longest _day. I am tired, I am hating this language, and I am not arguing whether _murder _is _bad _with a _psychopath._”

“Well, I can’t say I was particularly eager to be lectured on morality by a homeless teenager, so I suppose I see your point.” Metzin came to a stop, and Zarah belatedly realised that they’d arrived at the wall at the edge of the school grounds. “Still, we’ll hopefully have plenty of time to talk about it in the future.”

She raised one hand towards the wall, and Zarah felt a hint of that same pressure she’d experienced from Remy on the rooftop as Metzin began to glow with blacklight. Planes of red ghostlight began to materialise, sliding into place as if emerging from some unseen compartment, and quickly formed a staircase up and over the wall.

“…’in the future’?” Zarah asked warily.

“Mm.” Metzin turned back to her. “This is the situation. Usually, I’d take this attention as a sign to move on; leave the country and cover my tracks.”

_‘Usually’. How many times has she done this?_

“But,” she continued, “I believe we have a unique opportunity on our hands here.”

“We?” Zarah asked flatly.

“We. You see, as it currently stands, I can’t continue my experiments without new subjects. You-” and she gestured out, back towards the school, “-weren’t willing to allow the unfortunate results of that to continue. Which, again, I commend you for. But, in doing so, you’ve also removed my ability to continue working.” She extended the hand holding the umbrella, and a pole with a clasp on top rose up from the ground beside her, wrapping around the umbrella’s handle and holding it up. She brought both hands together, clasping them at her front. “I propose that the problems are each others’ solutions.”

“You…” Zarah understood what she was proposing. She didn’t _want _to, but she did. “You want me to kill people for you.”

“No,” Metzin snapped, annoyed. “Killing is the _last _thing I want you to do. I want you to _find _people for me. _Alive. _The killing was all Tierron, believe me – I have absolutely no interest in your dirtying your hands like that.”

“Because what?! I am not unguilty by handing them over to you! They still die!”

Metzin sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose with two fingers. “One, I’d say there’s a _significant _difference considering you’re _not _killing them, yes. And _two, _your whole issue with this was the moral scruple, so I’m giving you an opportunity to remove that from the equation.”

“Speak simply.”

“I don’t care _who _it is,” Metzin explained slowly. “You obviously have enough base moral fibre that I can trust you won’t make inhumane decisions. But apart from that, I leave it to your discretion. Find people that _you _believe the world would be better without, and I won’t question your judgement. You’re obviously talented; industrious and discreet, based on the events of the last week, and if necessary I can provide funds and equipment to make your job easier.”

Something warm rose up unbidden in Zarah at the praise, followed immediately by a wave of bile and loathing, both regular and self-.

She stared at Metzin flatly.

“I’d offer you more time to consider it,” the woman offered, seemingly sincere, “but we’re unfortunately on something of a time limit here.”

“And the other?” Zarah asked slowly, even though she already knew the answer.

“‘Other’… oh, the alternative?” She shrugged one shoulder again, in that oddly-dismissive manner Zarah had already started to notice as a pattern. “I could make some euphemistic statement about tying up loose ends, but seeing as we’re both making an effort to speak more clearly… The alternative is that I kill you, yes.”

Hearing it said out loud made it real, and to Zarah it felt like the temperature around them had dropped slightly. Metzin was once again giving off an indefinable _pressure, _but only very slightly, and she had no trouble ignoring it as she adjusted her grip on the hammer.”

“You _try _to kill me,” she corrected.

“Mm,” Metzin acknowledged. “I suppose that’s a possibility, yes. What will it be then?”

Zarah took a second – not to consider, just to gather herself.

“I hate myself, that you would even think I could say yes.”

Metzin considered that, then nodded.

“Shame,” she said, then filled the air with crimson.

Zarah was already moving to the side, and so the whirring buzzsaws that materialised out of thin air only drew gashes from her side and leg instead of slicing her into pieces. She kicked off the ground and changed directions just in time to dodge another one, moving towards Metzin and batting more spinning blades aside, but the other woman was already rising off the ground on a pillar of red ghostlight.

Zarah launched herself after her, a spray of mud shooting outwards from the force of her leap. She soared upwards, overtaking Metzin just before the peak of her arc, and had just begun to fall when an I-beam materialised in the air, already shooting towards her.

She let out a vicious curse, and in a motion that she couldn’t have explained if she’d tried, twisted in the air as the beam shot by. In the instant they were aligned, she managed to get her feet on it and push off, granting her some additional momentum as the beam went spinning off-course.

She saw Metzin’s eyes widen fractionally, and an instant later, three more beams were shooting towards her. These ones, though, came slightly staggered and at different angles and alignments. Even if Zarah had been able to replicate the movement, their arrangement would’ve prevented it from working, and so she didn’t bother. Instead, she switched her grip on the hammer, and in the instant before the first beam impacted with her torso, _threw _it like a spear, head-first.

It had barely left her hand when she was flung backwards, the pain along her torso and stomach more bludgeoning than she’d grown used to. The one benefit of the beams being arranged as they were was that instead of spearing through her, it was the length of it that hit, deflecting her off to the side as she tumbled downwards.

The impact moments later was enough to knock her out completely. Only for a few seconds (and wasn’t it just _spectacular _that she was getting experienced at knowing how long she’d been unconscious) but it turned out to be a few seconds too long. She opened her eyes to a bright red light, and had just enough time to process that it was a giant block of ghostlight before it impacted.

She screamed, raw and anguished, as her torso and legs were crushed into the ground, the pain outpacing her capacity to suppress it. Worse, she could already feel the flesh starting to knit back together, but being unable to do so while the block was still there.

The pain faded quickly, at least, but the disconcerting sensations remained as the sound of footsteps drew closer. Zarah twisted her neck around to see Metzin trudging up, carrying her hammer. She appeared unharmed, but there was a deep tear in her shirt, presumably from Zarah’s spear-throw, and mud was splattered up to the knees of her pants.

Metzin stopped just to the side of her and hefted the hammer in both hands, saying nothing all the while. For one terrifying moment, Zarah had a vision of the hammer’s head hurtling down towards her skull, but then Metzin swung it sideways instead, straight into the side of the block.

With a sound like ringing steel, the hammer shattered into a thousand tiny fragments, raining down onto Zarah’s face like glass. With nothing holding it up anymore, the makeshift grip Zarah had fashioned came unravelled and fell limply to the ground next to her face.

“Hm,” Metzin said, more to herself than anything, “sloppy. Must’ve…” Her gaze flickered over to Zarah. “Ah, no, I see. Okay.”

For whatever reason, Zarah had been expecting… _something_. A speech, some taunts, another offer, maybe. She’d gotten too used to Paose and his bloviating, so it took her off guard when Metzin simply, silently, raised her hand.

The block disappeared, and for an instant, Zarah thought she’d been given an opportunity. And, maybe if she was fresh, it could’ve been one – she’d started stockpiling her own ghostlight as soon as she was conscious, and perhaps that would’ve been enough to throw Metzin off.

But she was tired, and sore, and _slow, _and so Metzin got her construct off first.

A cage of red light, completely solid, appeared around Zarah, a bare instant before she detonated her ghostlight. Desperately, she tried to hold it back, but it tore straight through her control, and then straight through her, as the walls of light contained and magnified the explosion.

Ears ringing and vision blurry, it took her a moment to register that the box had started to grow smaller, pressing her in. Not fast, but not slow either – just a steady encroachment, like a trash compactor. She tried to brace her legs against one side and her back against the other, but with so many injuries, she didn’t even have the strength to keep them from bowing as the walls closed in.

Through the translucent red, she could see Metzin’s face staring down at her, that same blank expression on her face. Zarah couldn’t, _wouldn’t_, let that be the last thing she saw in her life-

And, as if in answer to her prayers, something slammed into Metzin from the side, sending her flying out of Zarah’s field of view.

The box immediately stopped contracting, and Zarah released her pent-up breath. She hadn’t been able to see what had hit Metzin, but it had looked large. _It almost looked like a tiger, or-_

There was a knock on the box, and Zarah twisted her face around to see the smiling face of Remy Auclair.

_-or a very large dog_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update will be on the 15th of May


	20. Extra Mile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which, for once, we do not render unto caesar

There was a sound like thick ice shattering, and the box around Zarah collapsed, spilling her out onto the muddy ground.

“Whoo-oo!” Remy said from above her, and she rolled over enough to see him shaking out his seemingly-undamaged fist. “That was some tough stuff! Hey, Zarah! How are you?”

“You look _awful_,” Zarah said before she could stop herself.

Remy grinned. “I know! Isn’t it great?”

He was wearing the same grey coat as before, but had swapped out the shorts and flip-flops for a pair of what looked like dark green fisherman’s waders, and a purple and pink athletic bra. The whole outfit clashed horribly, and the umbrella he was holding didn’t help – it was translucent, with a repeating pattern of cat decals across it in red and yellow.

“…sure,” Zarah said, not having the energy to dispute the point. She accepted the offered hand and climbed to her feet, then instinctively reached out for her hammer before remembering its fate. The shards still sat in the mud where they’d fallen, and she picked up one about the size of a kitchen knife, ignoring the way it cut into her hand as she gripped it tightly.

“What, no thank you?” Remy pouted as she strode past him in the direction Metzin had been sent flying.

“Thank you,” she said brusquely. “Are we killing this woman or no?”

“Now you’re speaking my language!” He fell into step with her, grinning broadly. “Not literally, cause we’re still speaking Brechtin, but-”

“I got it.”

Up ahead, two figures tore apart the small forest, while a third lurked on the edges. Orae’s hound was larger than Zarah had ever seen it, the actual shade almost completely obscured by the thick ghostlight armour surrounding it, adding to its height and size. It attacked Metzin with ferocious fury, growls and vicious barks accompanying every movement as it battered and smashed through the constructs she attempted to constrain it with. She was successfully keeping it away, at least, but the hand clutched to her side made it obvious that the first attack had injured her, leaving her on the back foot.

Slightly further away, Zarah could vaguely make out the form of Orae, hovering just out of the range of the devastation. They’d discarded their suit jacket for a black cargo vest, and they held their pistol in both hands, tracking Metzin but holding their fire.

Zarah changed directions slightly, moving towards them, but Remy continued on straight ahead, slowing to a casual stroll.

“Zarah,” Orae said curtly as she neared, not looking away from the fight. “Glad to see you were so very capable of handling things on your own.”

She didn’t have it in her to argue the point.

“You shake,” she observed instead, looking at the way their hands were trembling around the gun’s grip.

“Keeping up the armor,” they said through gritted teeth, “isn’t exactly _easy. _Where’s Auclair?”

Zarah pointed wordlessly, to where the boy in question was closing the distance to the fight. Almost immediately, half of a tree trunk was sent flying off to the side by the hound, straight towards him. A horrifically loud _crunch _split the air_, _and the trunk tumbled in two pieces to either side of him, leaving a trail of splinters in their wake. Remy was, of course, unharmed, but the umbrella had been ripped out of his hands, and the entire front of his body was covered in dust.

He frowned, lips moving, but they were too far away to hear him properly.

Orae interrupted her thoughts, tone irritated. “Are you just going to _stand _there?”

“Explain to me _how _I do anything here,” she shot back. To be perfectly honest, she felt like she was about to fall over, but she didn’t particularly feel like telling them that.

They growled, then quickly reversed their grip on the gun, grabbing Zarah’s hand and bringing it up to take the grip. “You take this, and I’ll-”

The instant she realised what was happening, Zarah flinched away, tearing out of their grip and knocking the gun to the ground.

“What the fuck?!” they snapped, glasses slipping down enough to reveal a furious seaglass glare.

Zarah’s heart was pounding wildly in her ears, adrenaline rushing through her veins as she backed away another step.

“N-no,” she managed to say, as they crouched down to retrieve the gun from the mud. “That- _no._ No _touch, _no _gun, _no-”

Her instincts flared, telling her to move, but her reaction speed could no longer keep up, and so it was only Orae tackling her to the ground that saved her from being hit by the armoured hound as it flew back through the space they’d been occupying moments ago.

They hit the ground together, Zarah squelching into the mud with an unpleasant noise as Orae landed on top of her, one elbow driving into her stomach slightly and causing her to release her breath in a surprised _whoof. _They were surprisingly heavy, Zarah noted as they pushed themself off with a hand planted in the mud underneath her arm.

“Idiot,” they snapped. “It’s like you _want _to get killed.”

Their glasses had slipped down to the very edge of their nose, revealing their eyes again. They really were the most _vivid _green, Zarah observed.

Then they slapped her across the face, ruining the moment slightly.

“Hey!” they hissed. “Are you _present _or not? Because if not, you being around is just a liability.”

As Orae spoke, the hound leapt over their heads again with a furious roar, rejoining the fight with the _crunch_ing of trees breaking.

Irritatingly, the slap had actually helped a little. “Present,” Zarah said, voice more raspy than she’d intended. “Sorry.”

They frowned, but then nodded and pushed themself up onto their feet. Zarah followed a little more slowly, heart still racing from the adrenaline. Unlike Remy earlier, Orae didn’t offer her a hand up, already turning their attention back to the fight.

Which was- fine.

She followed their gaze to the fight, just in time to see Remy get smacked down into the ground by, of all things, a _road-roller _made of ghostlight. It shattered moments later, revealing him to be utterly unharmed, but driven into the ground all the way up to hips.

“Uh.” He tried to push his hands against the ground, but they just sunk right in with no resistance. “Um. Guys? Help?”

Orae muttered something under their breath, then raised two fingers and let out a series of short, piercing whistles, a combination Zarah hadn’t heard before. Immediately, their hound drew back, dancing out of the way of a slew of I-beam javelins. Zarah saw its head spin around to lock onto Orae immediately, and then towards Remy as they made a series of quick hand signals.

“What- hey!” Remy yelled, as the hound dashed towards him. “Orae, no! Orae, don’t you dare-”

Zarah looked back at Metzin before the impact, tuning out the various noises. The other woman was watching them, that same placid expression on her face as she straightened the scarf around her neck, and a hole opened up in her chest.

Zarah had just enough time to think _wait-,_and then her brain registered the retort of a gun coming from next to her. She stumbled away from Orae, missing a step and nearly falling.

Orae glanced over at her, irritation plain on their face. “What?! Are-”

In their moment of distraction, with the hound busy helping Remy, Metzin struck.

All Zarah saw was a flicker of motion in the corner of her vision, before something yanked on her leg, pulling it out from underneath her and dragging her across the ground. Judging by the startled yelp from next to her, Orae was suffering the same predicament.

After a few seconds, the jostling stopped. Head spinning, Zarah looked down to find a red manacle clamped around her leg, the chain connected to it leading to Metzin’s hand. Orae had an identical manacle around their leg, but they hadn’t managed to sit up yet, one hand held to their head as they groaned.

Then, quite a few things happened in a very short space of time.

Zarah’s instincts flared, screaming at her to move. Following her gut, she looked up, just in time to see a veritable storm of I-beams falling towards the exact spot Metzin had dragged them into, and far too close to possibly get out of the way in time. Still, she began to move anyway – not even bothering to get to her feet, she started to drag herself in an awkward, frantic shuffle off to the side, and made it almost a whole half-foot before the beams made impact.

She squeezed her eyes shut, just as a series of horrific _crunch_es drowned out the rest of the world. And for a brief instant, she actually _felt _the pain, the bones breaking and blood spraying, so intense it drew out the beginnings of a scream from the back of her throat. But then, a moment later, it was gone, and as she flinched at nothing, she realised that she’d been anticipating the pain so vividly she’d made herself feel it, even if just for a moment.

_But the noises were real, _her brain whispered to her, and she belatedly opened her eyes and looked upward, into an expense of red, that quickly resolved itself into a shape. Orae’s hound was standing over the two of them, paws planted firmly in the mud, back bent and bowed. The image resolved a little more, and she realised _why _that was – it had taken the brunt of the impact for them, and now there were multiple spears sticking up out of its back.

Faintly, she could make out a soft, wounded keening noise, ragged and uneven, as the ghostly form of the hound expanded and contracted with injured pants. Next to her, Orae let out a rough, wet cough, and she looked down to see blood spilling from her mouth, as well as from a cut on their forehead that was very conspicuously _not _healing.

The chains were gone, so Zarah managed to get to her feet and haul them out from underneath the hound. Once they were clear, it collapsed to the ground with a pained whimper.

“Orae,” Zarah hissed. “Are you okay?”

They moaned something incoherent, blood dribbling from the corner of their mouth.

“Uh, Zarah? Orae? I can’t see what’s happening. Did you guys win?”

Somehow, Remy had ended up back in the ground, but headfirst – all Zarah could see was a pair of legs waving about fruitlessly in the air. His voice was muffled, but the fact that they could still hear him at all was honestly impressive.

Zarah was exhausted, Orae was unconscious, their hound was heavily injured, and Remy was- Remy. When Zarah looked back over at Metzin, she expected to see her looking victorious, or at least satisfied. She had the clear advantage here – Zarah was the only one in anything resembling fighting condition, and Metzin had already thoroughly trounced her.

Instead, hand still clutched to her side, she just looked… pensive.

Her lips moved, and Zarah just managed to make out her voice over the distance and rain.

“Disappointing.”

Then she turned on her heel and disappeared into the trees.

Zarah watched her go, wanting nothing more than to take off after her, but she just simply didn’t have the energy left. To pursue her, to fight again, or even, at this particular moment, to manage to stand up.

Orae coughed again, sending another splatter of blood flying. They’d ended up half in Zarah’s lap when she’d collapsed, which was convenient, because she didn’t think she could have moved to check on them. Their pulse was still strong, at least, their skin warm and vital, and Zarah had no idea what to do beyond checking those. They didn’t have any visible injuries apart from the glancing cut on their forehead, and she couldn’t see any reason for their current state other than…

“Guys? Seriously, if you’re dead, I can’t tell! Okay, if you’re dead, say absolutely nothing.”

“We-” She had to cough and clear her throat. “We are alive!”

“Hell yeah! I love being alive; love to try it someday. Hold on, I think I’ve-”

There was a vaguely wet suction noise, followed by the messy scrabbling of limbs and occasional mutters in a foreign language.

“Yes!” Remy crowed eventually, voice no longer muffled. “Take that, mud! You better watch out, lady, cause I’m gonna aaaaand she’s already gone, huh?”

Zarah twisted her neck around to look at him as he squelched over. The upper half of his body was completely covered in mud, dripping from his matted hair and out of the sleeves of his coat. Ironically, his waders were almost completely clean.

“Ugh,” he said, spitting out some mud. “Zarah, no offense, but your country’s dirt tastes _terrible._”

“…none taken.”

He planted his hands on his hips, looking around. “So, did we win, or…?”  
“She ran,” Zarah said, ignoring the use of ‘we’. “Not sure why.”

“And you and Luce didn’t-” He seemed to notice what had happened to the hound for the first time and winced dramatically. “Oof. Okay, yeah. I was wondering why Rae-rae was napping, actually.”

_…Rae-rae?! _“You know what is wrong with them?”

“Uh, yeah, dummy.” He waved a hand at the hound. “Do you not see _that_, or…?”

As if in response, the hound whined, low and pitiful.

“Oh, come on, you big baby,” Remy said. “It’s not _that _bad, stop whinging.”

The hound – Luce? – made another pitiful sound.

“You _are _whinging!” Remy said, sauntering over. “If it was going to kill you, it already would’ve! Probably!”

“Stop saying ‘whinging’,” Orae said groggily, and Zarah glanced down to find their eyes open, if a bit unfocused. “Sounds stupid in your accent.” _Their _accent was completely different, all broad, slow vowels and chewed-up consonants.

“Oh, hey, Rae-rae!” Remy called, already hopping up on the hound’s back and taking hold of one of the beams impaling it. “Glad you’re not dead! Also, this is probably gonna hurt! A lot!”

“I _said_ not to-”

Remy yanked the beam out.

Dog and master let out simultaneous howls of pain, and Orae somehow managed to flail their elbow directly into Zarah’s crotch.

“You _fucker!_” they yelled, then immediately realised where they’d been lying and shot upright. “Oh, shit, I-”

Zarah let out a pained, high-pitched keening sound, and slowly toppled over.

She could hear Remy cackling as she lay there, waiting for the edges of her vision to stop being all fuzzy. After only a few seconds, though, the laughter abruptly turned into a surprised yelp, and then the wet _squelch _of someone landing in mud.

“Did he-” she asked weakly.

“Mm-hmm,” Orae responded in a strained voice.

“Good.” The pain, thankfully, had begun to fade. “Are you okay now?”

“Mm,” they grunted. “Not yet, but working on it.” Their normal accent had returned, crisp and sharp once more.

“Good,” Zarah repeated. “Then I am going to faint now.”

“Wait, what-”

Zarah passed out.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next update: 02/06/2020, Chapter Twenty-One


	21. Rich

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which vertically-organised management structures are synergised and flattened

“So,” Dr. Khoura said, steepling her fingers in front of her. “Let’s review.”

The four of them were sitting at a round table at the back of what Myra had introduced as the ‘operations room’. They formed a sort of triangle: Khoura at one point, positioned to look out onto the rest of the room, with Myra in her usual position at her shoulder; Rinet, at the second point with her back half-turned to the rest of the room; and at the third point-

“Didn’t we already do that?” Ceit Barrach asked, leaning back in their chair. “Didn’t we already do that _twice_?”

“And now we’ll be doing it a third time,” Khoura said with an icy calm. “Unless, of course, you’d like to push through that contract dispute you won’t stop mentioning.”

Ceit grinned, leaning forward and taking up a pose that was _just _dissimilar enough to Khoura’s that no-one could reasonably accuse them of mocking her. “Not at all, boss lady. Just touching base. Let’s get a-reviewin’!”

The worst part, Rinet thought bitterly, is that she didn’t exactly disagree with them.

It hadn’t taken long after that initial meeting for her to find a new assignment on her desk, stating that she had been “seconded to Grand Commander Khoura as a liaison officer, effective immediately”, along with instructions to report to an airfield on the south side of Kaila five minutes ago. She’d barely had enough time to visit Gabriel in hospital and explain the situation during visiting hours, before swinging by her tiny apartment to grab her go-bag and a few extras.

Instead of the usual government security forces she’d grown used to, the checkpoint at the airfield had been conducted by Chival squires, and had been significantly more thorough. Which seemed slightly pointless to Rinet, considering their Grand Commander had just walked into her office the last time, but she’d kept her mouth shut and endured it. The alternative was losing her job, and as a 20-year-old with a head full of classified information, there wasn’t much else she was _allowed _to do for work.

After the most humiliating thirty minutes of her life, she’d finally been allowed through the checkpoint, and onto the large ship waiting in the second hangar.

Rinet had never been particularly interested in zeppelins, but she knew a fancy one when she saw it – and the CNS _Middleground _was fancy indeed.

It was a modern split-bag design; four smaller bags in a rough ‘rectangle’ with the body built around it, rather than a single large one over the body. The engines were integrated into the rear main body, hidden so well that it took Rinet a few seconds to locate them, and the entire ship was done up in the signature Chival grey and silver. The only splash of colour was the name on the… bow? On whatever the front of the ship was called, painted on in a violet so pale it almost looked white at first glance.

Not only was the _Middleground _fancy, it was also _huge. _It towered over Rinet when she entered the hangar; at least as wide and tall as a large house, and more than double the length. Walking up the lowered gangplank made her feel as if she was entering the belly of some huge beast from a story.

Inside, she’d been led by another squire through a large loading bay and up to the operations room where she now sat, just in time to be introduced to Ceit as they began their observation. And after that, Rinet had no trouble declaring herself completely and utterly out of her depth.

She wasn’t _completely _ignorant, of course. She knew all too well that there was a lot of scary shit out there – the files referred to people capable of creating and manipulating ghostlight as ‘variant individuals’, which Rinet personally thought sounded stupid. She knew the basics of how it functioned and what they could do; or, she’d _thought _she did before the morgue. Seston and Tierron had been _terrifying_, but put enough bullets in them and they went down, at least temporarily. Auclair, though… whatever _he _was, it was completely outside her knowledge base.

But even with that rudimentary knowledge, sitting with Khoura, Coleridge and Barrach as they observed the girl with hammer had left her just completely lost. Terms and phrases and names were all thrown around, Khoura and Barrach had their little back-and-forths about ‘seers’ and ‘authority’, and Rinet had just… sat there, watching the image shift and change. She’d done her best to take notes, make observations, but there was only so much that could be done with her limited vocabulary.

To be perfectly honest, she wasn’t entirely sure _why _she was there. Khoura hadn’t called on her, didn’t seem to expect any sort of contribution or insight. For a liason, she didn’t seem to be doing much _liasing_.

She sat there as Khoura and Barrach reviewed the events of the previous evening, Coleridge occasionally chiming in with a correction or a detail. Barrach’s responses had only become more flippant and unhelpful as these ‘reviews’ had gone on, as had their posture. Currently, they were leaning back in their chair, one leg loosely crossed over the other and hands behind their head. Their purple floral-print dress was short enough to ride up, but thankfully the ruffles within helped avoid any awkwardness (if not any _rudeness_).

Ceit was… confusing. Their pale skin and the orange tint to the fuzz on the shaved head made her think of Eirdi, but their accent was something more northern, sharp and cutting; words which also described their features quite well. The faded lilac eyes, though… those sparked something in her memory, even if she couldn’t quite recall it yet.

More than any of that, though, was their attitude_. _

They. Were. _So._ _Rude. _

And Rinet could handle that if it was just to her! Lord knows she’d dealt with it enough. But they were like that to _everyone_, including the Grand Commander that Rinet was trying _very hard _not to antagonise.

It was arrogance, she decided as she watched them needle at Khoura over a minor bit of wording. They _knew _they were valuable – at the very least, Khoura had felt the need to bring them in from outside her command – and so they were testing boundaries, seeing what they could get away with. The _problem, _beyond it being childish and stupid, was that Rinet _also _had to report to the doctor, as did every single other soul on board the _Middleground. _And while she didn’t seem to be the type of boss to take out her frustrations on other subordinates, she was already noticeably more snappish and terse than she had been in their first meeting.

“I _asked,_” she was saying, “for your _opinion, _Barrach. ‘I’unno’ is not an opinion.”

They shrugged casually. “Didn’t think you were paying me for opinions, boss.”

Khoura took off her glasses, pinching the bridge of her nose between two fingers. “Barrach,” she said, without looking up. “I understand you are unused to working within a formal command structure, and I am making an effort in good faith to be accomodating.”

Ceit smirked.

“_But,_” Khoura continued, and finally looked up, glaring at them with eyes shadowed by her brow. “If that is not _reciprocated, _I can decide that I am no longer interested in being… _accommodating._”

To Rinet, she wasn’t doing anything except glaring, but Ceit’s eyes had gone wide, hands gripping the arms of their chair. Coleridge was still standing behind Khoura, but her face was drawn and tense, feet planted firmly as if bearing against some great weight.

“Do I make myself clear?” Khoura asked calmly, still staring at Ceit.

“Y-yes,” they stammered out, former bravado nowhere to be found. “Message received.”

“Glad to hear it.” Ceit instantly sagged in relief, and the tension in Coleridge’s brow faded away, silent relief in her eyes. Rinet chanced a quick glance around, and found that none of the other staff seemed to have been affected. One more thing to add to the list of things she was ignorant of, apparently.

“So,” Khoura continued, slipping her spectacles back on, “where were we?”

It took a second of silence before Rinet realised it wasn’t rhetorical.

“Barrach’s opinion of the girl,” she prompted. It wasn’t like she had much else to contribute; she’d take being a glorified secretary over being deemed extraneous.

“Ah, yes.” Khoura gave her a slight nod. “Barrach?”

“…right.” They removed their glasses, wiping at some sweat with the back of one hand. “Obviously, she’s extremely inexperienced, but I’m having trouble squaring that with… well, _anything _else? I can’t comment on her shade or anything else, but just within my area of expertise, I’m… _curious _how someone so obviously amateurish could be putting up baffles of that degree on accident.”

Khoura raised a single eyebrow. “An accident? Not instinctive, or subconscious?”

“That’s my _opinion,_” they stressed, “but yes. It’s like… hm. What’s the best metaphor to use here?”

“I know my theory, Barrach. There’s no need for metaphors.”

Hesitantly, Rinet cleared her throat. “I… would appreciate the metaphors, actually.”

The corner of Khoura’s mouth twitched, just for a moment. “Ah, quite right. My apologies, Ms. Yso.”

Ceit’s gaze turned to Rinet, curious and a little bit suspicious. “Well,” they said slowly, “I suppose one way of thinking of it would be… a radio, where blocking a signal involves filling that frequency with static so nothing can be heard. If it was done intentionally, only specific bands would be blocked off, to conserve energy. In this case, though, it was like every single frequency was being filled with static.”

Rinet frowned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but wouldn’t that be incredibly energy-intensive?”

“Within the metaphor, yes. It doesn’t quite work like that, it’s closer to… The point is, yes, essentially, it is. It’s generally only done by complete amateurs, who can’t keep it up for more than a minute or two, or those strong enough to be able to casually expend that amount of ‘energy’. If the latter were true, though, you’d expect to see a… much higher ‘density’ of static.”

“So,” Rinet said slowly, putting the pieces together, “as far as you can tell… we’re dealing with a complete amateur, who somehow has access to much more power than they should.”

Ceit blinked, then grinned. “Couldn’t have put it better myself.”

Khoura and Coleridge exchanged a glance, silently communicating.

“Is that… what could explain that?” Rinet asked, once it became clear no-one else was going to. “How unusual are we talking, here?”

“Not _unprecedented_,” Khoura answered, “but certainly unusual, yes. Thank you, Barrach – I’d reached a similar conclusion myself.”

They started to smirk, but stopped themself just in time. “So why did you ask me, then?”

“_Doveryáy, no proveryá_. Trust, but verify.”

Rinet made a mental note to look up the phrase later.

“Now,” Khoura continued, “Ms. Yso. Were you able to dig anything up?”

Rinet nodded, shuffling her notepad around so her documents were on top. “Yes, but don’t get your hopes up. ‘Zarah’ is a fairly common name, not something that can really be searched with any reliability. Cross-referencing it with ethnicity might return some results, but I got some… pushback, on that.”

And thank goodness, because to Rinet that was starting to edge into distinctly uncomfortable territory.

“Would you be able to force the issue?”

Rinet drummed her fingers on the table. “Possibly, using your authority, but it’d burn that contact for me, likely permanently. And… I wouldn’t, regardless.”

“Pardon?” Khoura asked, perfectly calm.

_You picked a great time to develop principles, Rin. _“I wouldn’t,” she repeated, forcing herself to make eye contact with the doctor, “as I believe it to be both outside the mandate of my position, and unethical.”

“…I see,” was all the response she received.

Ceit let out a low whistle, which immediately withered under the glare that Khoura turned their way.

“On the other hand,” Rinet added quickly, “I’ve passed on the relevant details to my contacts and a few partner agencies – for Seston and Auclair, too. As soon as something comes up, they’ll let me know.”

“Good.” Khoura didn’t _seem _angry, but there was still something… calculating in her gaze that left Rinet on edge. “Well, unless anyone has anything else to add…?”

They all shook their heads.

“Mm. Well, then I suppose we can call it a night. Tomorrow, we can begin laying out a roadmap and action plan.”

Khoura stood, and Coleridge instantly snapped to attention. Rinet didn’t feel right saluting, considering she’d never learned how, but she stood as well and straightened her posture. After a moment, Barrach did the same, albeit more grudgingly.

“Barrach, you’ve been assigned quarters on B deck. Ms. Yso, while you’re welcome to find your own accommodation off-site, it would be highly preferable if you were to stay nearby in case of any unexpected incidents.”

_Translation: you don’t _have _to stay here, but yes, you basically do._

“Understood,” Rinet replied. “I’ll take the quarters then.”

Khoura inclined her head. “Barrach knows the way. Dismissed.”

The bustle of the room resumed, and Rinet glanced over to see the rest of the staff returning to their positions. She hadn’t even noticed that they’d been standing at attention.

Khoura turned to leave, but Coleridge put a hand on her shoulder and bent down to murmur something in her ear. Khoura nodded, and waited by the door as Coleridge walked over.

To Rinet’s surprise, she turned to her – she’d been expecting it to be something to do with Barrach.

“I’ll have a talk to her later,” Coleridge said quietly. “She can get a little… intense, I know, so good on you for standing your ground.”

Rinet pursed her lips, doing her best not to appear intimidated. “I appreciate the intent, Captain, but can you really-”

“Oh, none of that ‘captain’ nonsense.” She grinned, dropping a hand on Rinet’s shoulder.

Rinet whipped it off, stepping back. “Please don’t touch me,” she snapped, harsher than she’d intended. “I- shit. Sorry.” _Nice going, imbecile._

“No, no,” Coleridge said hastily, raising her hands, “I should’ve known better. Personal space and all.”

Rinet took a deep breath. “Apology accepted,” she said, although her fight-and-flight response was still screaming at her. “I have-”

“No explanation necessary,” Coleridge interrupted. “I overstepped.” She moved back, lifting a hand. “Like I said, I’ll have a word with Ind- with her. Have a good night.”

Rinet raised a tired hand in response, before picking her bag up off the ground and turning to Barrach.

“Well?” she asked. “Lead the way.”

Thankfully, _blessedly, _they managed to stay silent for almost half of the walk. Long enough for Rinet to get her head screwed back on, at least, to reassert her little bubble of personal space. The corridors of the _Middleground _reminded her of a submarine documentary she saw once; less cramped, smooth and polished instead of dull with visible welds, but nevertheless the same sense of… pure functionality. Veins leading between the parts that actually matter.

Occasionally, they passed a grunt bustling one way or the other, but for the most part, their journey through the ship was a solitary one, as Barrach led them down two floors and to what Rinet’s internal map declared to be the rear of the ship. They’d just reached the bottom of the second ladder when they finally turned to Rinet, a smug look on their face as they opened their mouth.

Rinet got there first.

“No,” she snapped, spinning on them with an upraised, accusative finger. “Absolutely _not._”

“What-?”

“You have to _cut it out_,” she hissed, backing them up against the wall. “Or I _swear _to _God_ I will make your life a living hell.”

“Whoa,” they laughed, raising their hands. “Calm down, hon,-”

“_Tst!_” She whipped the finger forward, stopping just before hitting them. They flinched back, banging their head against the wall.

“_Don’t_ call me that,” Rinet continued as they groaned and rubbed at their head. “I don’t know who you are or why you’re here, but if you don’t start acting professional-”

“You’ll what?” they interrupted, expression amused. “Tell on me to the teacher?”

She wasn’t fully aware of the exact journey her facial expression went on, but judging by their reaction, it was clearly significant.

Rinet sighed, stepping back and adjusting her glasses. “Grow up,” she said. “I have a job to do, a job I _need _to do, because the safety of this country is at stake. And you can either stop getting in the way of that, or we can find out definitively which one of us is more _essential_.”

_And please, God, don’t let it be them._

Ceit broke eye contact first, raising their hands in surrender. Rinet _really _wanted to stalk out of the room, but she didn’t actually know where they were going, so she had to wait for Ceit to realise that and resume walking.

“So,” they said after a minute or so of silence, “what’s up with your eye?”

Rinet rolled her eyes- eye. Whatever. “It’s a business thing.”

“‘Business’?”

“Business, as in _none of yours._”

That got a laugh out of them, throaty and melodious. “Okay, I walked right into that one. How about this, then; explain to me how exactly this whole thing is a ‘threat to national security’? I get Auclair, but the other two are just some random kids, right?”

“…how about _this_,” Rinet countered as they came to a stop outside an unmarked door. “I’ll explain that, but in return, you give me a rundown of all that jargon you were throwing around upstairs.”

Ceit grinned, sticking out their hand. “Deal.”

She stared at them until they lowered their hand, then gestured at the door. “Is this your room, or mine?”

They just grinned even wider, and realisation hit Rinet like- like a truck through a morgue wall.

“You have _got _to be kidding me,” she muttered.

“Aww, come on, roomie, it’ll be fun!” Ceit said, opening the door to their _shared _quarters. “Dibs on top bunk!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update: Ch.22, June 30th


	22. Lonely Boy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which third time's the charm

“…aren’t you getting?! A sandwich is filling between two slices of bread! Here’s the filling, here’s the bread! Explain to me how this is not a sandwich!”

“If you top pasta with more pasta, you just have pasta! It doesn’t matter how cooked it- oh shoot, I think we woke her.”

“<No kidding, you cacophonous baboon>,” Zarah growled. She cracked her eyes open, then immediately flinched away from the light, flopping one arm limply over her face to block it out.

“Good morning to you too!” Remy chirped from above her.

“Trust me,” Kihri said, “that’s _definitely _not what she said.”

“Shut up,” Zarah grumbled.

“Uh… rude?”

“Not you.” She pointed at where Kihri’s voice was coming from. “Her.”

“There’s… no-one there, Zarah. Oh, unless- your sister, right?”

She grumbled something vaguely affirmative.

“Cool! Hi, Zarah’s sister! Sorry we can’t see you! Also sorry for when I was naked a bit earlier!”

“It’s fine,” Kihri said, amused. “You have a cute butt.”

“Not repeating that,” Zarah said, dragging herself up into a sitting position. “There was other voice…”

“Over here,” Orae said flatly. “Took you long enough. I had to sleep on the _floor_.”

“I offered to share!” Remy protested.

“Yes, you did, _after _explaining that you sleep in the nude, get night terrors, and are a ‘fear-cuddler’, which I have since researched and can conclusively say is _not _a real thing.” They let out an irritated huff. “Besides, it’s a _single_.”

“It would’ve been _fine. _You’re tiny!”

“Call me that one more time and I’ll rip out your spine and strangle you with it.”

“They’ve been like this the _entire time_,” Kihri said dreamily. “I haven’t been so entertained since that time with all the bed-bugs.”

Cautiously, Zarah opened her eyes, keeping her arm in place while they adjusted to the light. They were all in what looked like a small hotel room; a fairly nice one, actually, with plush sheets and a view out over the city. Judging by the light outside, it was late morning – after the storm the previous night, the sky was crisp and clear, with a breeze strong enough to rattle the sliding door out onto the balcony.

Zarah was sitting on the single bed closer to the window, with Remy standing in front of her and Orae curled up in an armchair in the corner. Thankfully, Remy was no longer nude, wearing the same outfit as the previous night but without the coat. Orae, on the other hand, was wearing nothing but a plain t-shirt so oversized that they were practically swimming in it, bare legs tucked up underneath them and half-hidden in the fabric. They had their dark glasses, staring down at where they were scraping a knife along some kind of metal rod, but their hair was down from its usual buns, falling freely across their shoulders. Luce lay on the floor in front of them, head resting between her paws on the carpet and panting happily.

“…where are we?” Zarah asked, rubbing at her throat.

“Orae’s hotel room!” Remy dropped back onto the other bed with a grin. “Sweet, right?”

Between this and the suits, it was pretty clear that Orae had a taste for the finer things in life. Zarah didn’t have it in her to begrudge them that at the current moment, but she felt confident she’d get round to it eventually.

“We had to haul your unconscious arse the entire way back here,” Orae groused, still staring down at their knife. “A little bit of gratitude seems the least you can do.”

“Orae,” Zarah said. They looked up. “Thank you. Truly.”

They stared at her for a moment, then dropped their head, muttering something that sounded like ‘no big deal’.

“Just so you know,” Remy said in an exaggerated stage whisper, “I actually did all the work, and it was super easy, so don’t even sweat it.”

Without missing a beat, Orae’s hand whipped out, flinging the knife across the room in an instant. It bounced harmlessly off Remy’s forehead, and fell onto the bed beside him.

"That was pretty good!” Remy said, picking up the knife. “You’re still adding that little flick on at the end, though.” Orae groaned, slumping in their chair. “Which is totally fine if you’re confident in a spin throw! But if you’re throwing straight, you want a clean extension through the arm, like this!”

He flicked his arm out to the side, burying the knife up to the hilt in the hotel wall.

“…oh,” he said, embarrassed. “Uh, whoops? I’ll pay for that.”

Orae pinched the bridge of their nose beneath their glasses. “_With. What. Money.”_

“…I’ll pay _you back _for that?”

“…honestly, at this point, I’ll take it.”

“You see what I mean, right?” Kihri said from beside Zarah. “Like their own little vaudeville routine.”

“<…you’d never guess they’d only met a day ago>,” Zarah admitted under her breath.

While the others argued, she stretched her arms above her head, feeling the tension in her sides and back. There weren’t any obvious injuries, at least, but she was sore all over. Stretching relieved some of the tension, and she let out a quiet, relieved sigh.

She was pulling her sweatshirt back down from where it had ridden up when she realised that the room had gone silent, and looked up to find Orae staring at her.

“What?” she asked cautiously. Remy was looking at Orae with a strange expression on his face, corners of his mouth twitching upwards.

“Nothing,” Orae growled, standing and walking over to retrieve their knife . “Your clothes look terrible.”

Zarah couldn’t argue with that. One of them had obviously removed her tattered raincoat, which lay draped over the back of a chair, but otherwise she was still wearing the same ruined clothes as the previous night. The sweatshirt was missing most of one arm, as well as a hole in the torso, and both it and her pants were covered in tiny tears and rips, presumably from shrapnel. When she peaked under her shirt, her bra seemed mostly intact, but judging by the way it was moving around, the back strap was probably torn through. Her shoes, at least, were in fairly good condition – relatively mud-free, even.

“Orae, Remy.” Orae was standing in the corner for some reason, head resting against the wall. “…thank you. Both of you.”

“Oh my lord,” Kihri gasped, putting one hand to her chest. “Do I see Zarah Vyas, displaying a moment of genuine emotional connection? It _couldn’t _be.”

“<Zip it>,” Zarah snapped at her. “<If this is how you’re going to react when I make an effort, why should I even bother?>”

Kihri floated back, hands raised in surrender.

“Don’t suppose it’s worth the bother of asking what that was about,” Orae said dryly.

“Kihri,” Zarah said in explanation. “She is…” She glanced over at her sister, trying to remember the word. “…knife-mouth.”

“…knife-mouth?”

“Ehh, knife, cut? Mouth,” and she poked her own tongue out and pointed to it, “this part.”

“Sharp-tongued, maybe?” Remy suggested.

“Yes, that one. She says… sharp-tongued things. Constantly.”

“Honestly,” the girl in question admitted, “can’t really argue with that.”

“She sounds… interesting,” Orae said. “Your point?”

“Just… that. Just thank you. You… if you had not helped, it would be…”

“Inhumane, yes,” they interrupted. “Bare minimum, whoopie.”

She shook her head. “I was saying… understandable, I think. So, thank you.”

“Welcome!” Remy beamed.

Orae rubbed the back of their neck, looking away. “…I think we can safely declare you free of suspicion, at least.”

“Hey, yeah!” Remy turned a curious look to her. “Why _did _you not want to team up the first time? Orae thought you were secretly working with her, but I figured that was kinda… stupid?”

“It was a _reasonable _assumption-”

“Complicated,” Zarah cut in. “It is… complicated.” She looked down at her clothes again, and wrinkled her nose at the smell. “Maybe… I shower first, though.”

“Probably for the best,” Orae agreed, waving a hand in front of their face. Remy quickly slapped it down, fixing them with what was probably as close to a glare as he ever came. “Second door on the left, should be a spare towel on the rack over the bath. Use the bar soap, not the tube, and if you touch any of my products I’ll rip your throat out.”

“Sure,” Zarah agreed, not even fazed by the threats at this point. “…maybe also some clothes?”

* * *

Freshly bathed and in clean garments, Zarah took a seat at the small kitchen counter next to Remy. Orae stood at the counter, flipping something in a pan, and Kihri hovered over their shoulder, peaking at whatever they were cooking.

“Everything fit okay?” Remy asked as she sat. “Sorry about the colours.”

Remy was both taller and… _chestier _than her, so the shirt he’d happily lent her was long in the arms and baggy everywhere else. Not that Zarah had a problem with that – it ended up being fairly close to the way she normally dressed, apart from being bright orange. The cargo shorts, thankfully, were closer to her size, and her belt was still in one piece to hold them up.

Still, she’d feel more comfortable once she was back in her own clothes (and not visible from orbit). Something about that thought tickled at another, but when she tried to grasp the connection it slipped away. A night’s rest, of a kind, had taken the edge off her exhaustion, but it still lingered, clouding her brain.

Whatever Orae was cooking didn’t help either, the smell setting her stomach growling. She hadn’t eaten since…

“<Kihri, when was the last time I ate?>”

Her sister shot her an irritated glare from where she hovered over Orae’s shoulder. “Fuck if I know. I’m not your keeper.”

She ignored the glances Orae and Remy were giving her. “<Kihri. I know you know.>”

“Of _course _I know, I’m a genius, but that’s not the point. I’m not your personal assistant, and I’m not keeping track of shit like that for you, so don’t expect me to.”

“<Yesterday morning? The night before?>”

“…you had a protein bar at around 11 a.m. yesterday. Asshole.”

“_<Thank_ you.>”

“So,” Orae said as they removed the pan from the stove, portioning something out onto plates, “_this _is just normal for you? Talking to thin air?”

“<Well, _normally _I try don’t let stuck-up little know-it-alls hear, so no.>”

“Wrong language again,” Remy hinted under his breath.

“Sorry,” Zarah said, pretending it had been fully intentional. “Kihri is annoying when not talking, so, yes, pretty much.”

“Wonderful,” Orae said snidely, setting down three plates and sets of cutlery on the counter. “I can imagine that asking you to stop would be a futile effort, then?”

Zarah wanted to glare at them, but her gaze kept slipping down to the food. It was some kind of fried bread, from appearances, with a thick, dark red sauce containing what looked like beans, and it was the greatest thing Zarah had ever smelled.

“No,” she managed to confirm over the sound of her stomach growling. “I will not stop _talking to my sister_, so no.”

“Hm.” They passed out the plates and cutlery, and it was a physical effort to not immediately dig in.

“You believe me not,” she accused.

“Last time I checked, ghosts aren’t _real_, so no, not particularly.”

Wordlessly, Zarah and Remy dropped their gaze to where Luce sat at Orae’s feet.

“That’s different,” they replied hotly, “and you know it. Are we _eating, _or are we quibbling over semantics?”

“_Are _we eating?” Remy asked. “And if so, _what _are we eating?”

Orae gave him a flat look. “It’s beans and toast. You don’t know beans and toast?”

“I don’t think _anyone _knows beans and toast,” Remy said dubiously, poking at it with his knife. “Humans eat this? Like, people?”

“How would you know, Mr. ‘Do Humans Need To Breathe’?!”

“I already said I used the wrong word there, so I don’t understand why you-”

He looked down just in time to see Zarah swap out his plate for her already-empty one.

“What?” she asked, already cutting into his portion. “What is the expression, ‘snooze and lose’? You snooze, you lost.”

“You could have at least _asked _first.”

“Oh?” Orae asked. “_Now _you want to eat it? You must have been _insufferable _as a toddler.”

“Oh yeah, for sure. I got sent to the hole like, every other day.”

The conversation screeched to a halt so suddenly it was almost audible.

Zarah had frozen with a forkful of food halfway to her mouth, and it slowly slipped free and dropped back to the plate with a _splat. _

“Sorry,” Orae said, voice strangled, “I think I must have misheard you. See, it sounded like you said you got… ‘sent to the hole’, but surely that wasn’t _actually _what you said.”

“Nope!” Remy confirmed cheerily. “That’s what I said! No hearing problems to worry about there.”

“The hole,” Zarah said flatly.

“Yep, that’s it.”

“As in… _a hole._”

“Yep!”

“As in a hole… in a wall, or…”

“Well, it was in the ground, not a wall, but otherwise yep! We’re talking about the same thing, I’m pretty sure!”

“And,” Orae take over, “when you say ‘toddler’… two to three years old?”

“Yyyyyyes?”

“And you were… put in a _hole _in the _ground _when you misbehaved.”

“I mean, that makes it sound like it was just some random hole or something. Seriously, is there something I’m missing here? Which part is giving you trouble?”

Zarah and Orae looked at each other, and mutually, silently agreed to drop the topic like a live grenade and never ever pick it up again.

“Doesn’t matter,” Orae said quickly, taking a bite of their food. “I was jrrst mrgrhnn mrrd mrghrg mrmr.”

“Oh, sure, makes sense,” Remy agreed easily. “Hey, can I make some toast or something? Cause…” He glanced at Zarah, who was currently polishing off the last of his food and cleaning the plate thoroughly with a finger. “Cause that.”

“Do you even need to eat?” Orae asked.

“Look, ‘need’ is-”

“-a very complicated word,” Orae finished for him. “Right. Sure. Bloody… knock yourself out, then.”

“_Merci._”

While he rummaged through the cupboards, Orae collected the three empty plates. Zarah hadn’t even seen them pick up their cutlery, let alone take a bit or chew, but their plate was almost as clean as hers was. Well, _were. _

“I take that to mean that you liked it?” they asked dryly.

Zarah had to stop and think about it - taste and enjoyment weren’t really the qualities on which she rated food, so much as caloric load, shelf-life and portability. The food, as far as she could recall, had tasted fine, heavy and dense and warm, so… “Yes,” she decided. “Good. Thank you.”

They nodded, satisfied. “I’ll keep that in mind for the future, then.”

“For… the future?”

They turned back from the sink. “Right. I suppose we had to talk about it at some point?”

“Talk about what?” Remy asked, waiting with one hand over the toaster’s release button as he peered inside.

“The elephant in the room.” Zarah and Remy’s heads whipped around. “Okay, should’ve seen that one coming. The _metaphorical _elephant,” they quickly clarified. “Not a real elephant.”

“That means something that everyone knows about but doesn’t want to bring up,” Kihri translated.

“Which is?” Zarah asked.

“Metzin.”

The drama of the moment was undercut slightly by Remy’s toast choosing then to pop out. He fumbled with it for a moment, before managing to catch it in between both palms.

“What about her?” he asked, dropping the now-squished toast onto his plate. “You said she just ran away, right?”

“Yes,” Orae confirmed, “which means she’s still out there, which means we - all three of us - _failed._”

“Speaking for yourself,” Zarah said testily. “I did what I wanted.”

“Yes, that was quite evident by the way you were seconds from death when we arrived.”

“...did not know she was going to be there.”

“Yes, it’s almost as if you _failed _to account for that. The point I’m trying to make is…” they took a deep breath, then clasped their hands. “Any one of us would have died if we’d tried to fight her on our own.”

“Hey,” Remy protested. “Takes more than some construction equipment to kill me.”

“Fine. If _you’d _fought her alone, she would’ve tossed you around a bit and then gotten away effortlessly, because being an unkillable abomination doesn’t seem to have actually made you any less _ponderously _slow.”

“Yeah, that’s fair,” he admitted shamelessly.

“The point is,” they continued, “even with all three of us there, we _still _found ourselves thoroughly trounced. _But_, instead of finishing her off, she decided to retreat, which says to me that she _did _think the three of us together posed _some _threat, even if only because Lucel managed an excellent suckerpunch.”

The dog in question confirmed that with a happy _whuff._

“Or,” Zarah countered, “because she is… cold. Not cold, but… when we talked, she was. Not caring? But all over, everything not caring.”

“Sociopathic?” Remy said.

“Pragmatic?” Orae suggested at the same time.

“Yes, both. She was pragmatic, and said she wanted to ‘avoid unnecessary death’. She is… _wrong_, I think. Broken.”

Orae froze, tension radiating from them. “You _talked _to her?!”

“Yes.” Zarah shuddered slightly at the memory, Metzin’s uncaring coldness somehow more unsettling in the light of day. “It was. Uncomfortable.”

She recapped the rest of her night to them, leaving out as much detail as was possible and gliding over the fight with Paose almost entirely. When she mentioned what Metzin had said about ‘unnecessarily brutal early methods’, Orae visibly flinched, grinding their teeth, but didn’t interrupt.

She ended up having to explain the cache they’d dug up in Hafton as well, and as she did, a thought occurred to her.

“Remy,” she asked, “could that be the thing she is not supposed to know? Why you are supposed to killing her?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Mmmmmaybe? I _really_ don’t remember, but that sounds pretty gross so I hope not!”

Orae frowned. “You weren’t given… written orders? Instructions? Anything like that? I struggle to imagine that your general lack of information retention is a _new _factor, so would your superiors not have known to compensate for it?”

“Oh, yeah,” Remy agreed, “they did, but then I lost it cause I fell off a waterfall and it got wet. There was also a backup copy but that… also got wet. In a waterfall. Not the same waterfall, though!”

“You say that as if it makes it better, somehow.”

“It doesn’t?”

Zarah jumped in before things could deteriorate (again). “Orae. You know something.”

“…pardon me?”

“You reacted. When I said about ‘early methods’, you reacted.” She pointed at Remy. “Him, orders. Me, murders. Why are _you _here? What is… ‘your deal’?”

“Hey,” Kihri cheered, “you used an idiom! You go, girl.”

For a second, Zarah thought they were about to snap at her and storm out. Thankfully, they just sighed, all the tension draining out of them, and leant back against the sink.

“I… suppose you could say I was _familiar _with some of those ‘early methods’. Intimately familiar. My f- some people that I knew were- It-” The words caught in their throat, and they growled in frustration, one hand starting to rise in an aborted eye-wipe. “You want a snappy one-word reason, Zarah?” they said, voice raw and haggard. “I am here for _revenge._”

After a few moments of silence, Remy let out a low whistle. “Wow. I just got _chills_.”

Once again, Zarah’s expectations turned out to be completely off – instead of getting angry or storming out, Orae actually _laughed. _Hoarse and weak, but definitely a laugh.

“Small blessings,” they said, taking off their glasses to properly wipe away the tears. “Is that sufficient justification?” they asked, meeting Zarah’s gaze.

She looked away – the seaglass green of their eyes was uncomfortable, even more than eye contact usually was. “…sorry for your loss.”

“Mm.” That, Zarah was starting to suspect, was Orae for ‘I don’t have anything else to say, but I still want the last word’. The glasses went back on, and they settled back into their usual prickly persona. “If we’re _quite _done with the interrogation, I had a _point _I was working up to.”

“You’re gonna propose we work together, _again_,” Remy cut in. Orae fixed him with a glare, not affecting him in the slightest. “What? It was pretty obvious.”

“It was a little,” Zarah confirmed.

“Congratulations,” they muttered, “I’m regretting it already. Just- you.” They pointed at Zarah. “I don’t know what particular breed of paranoid martyr complex made you refuse in the first place, but I _dearly _hope that last night was sufficient illustration as to why that’s not going to work out.”

Zarah was sorely tempted to point out that she’d defeated Paose without either of their help. If she was being honest with herself, though, Metzin would have beaten her even if she’d been fresh. Zarah had only managed to hit her with a cheap shot, and now she didn’t even have the hammer anymore – the hammer that Metzin _made _in the first place.

So, pushing down the part of her that screamed to cut and run right now before it could all come crumbling down, she raised a hand in weary acquiescence. “Go team.”

Before she could react, Remy darted forward and turned it into a high-five. “Go team!” he yelled.

Zarah flinched away, and he paused, drawing back. “_No-_ no touching me, please.”

Remy nodded, face unusually sombre. “Got it, sorry, sorry.”

“And, based on last night’s _display, _I’m assuming ‘no firearms’ as well?”

Zarah managed not to react again, but only because she was already keyed up. “…I prefer not, yes. You grab me _and _make me _touch _it? _Definitely _not.”

“…I can see how that would be uncomfortable, yes.”

“Look,” Remy added in an exaggerated stage-whisper, “you already got one apology out of them today. Just roll with it.”

Orae snorted.

“No apology,” Zarah said. “Just do not do it again.”

“Oh, believe you me, I already had no intention whatsoever of letting you handle _any _of my guns again, after you got mud in Vivi-”

They froze for a solid five seconds. Then, slowly, almost robotically, they turned to the sink and began washing the dishes in complete silence.

Remy and Kihri both turned to Zarah, their faces bearing uncannily identical expressions of glee.

Zarah did her best to fight it, but nevertheless, a grin slowly crept its way across her face.

“Both of you, shut up,” Orae snapped, still facing the sink.

Remy’s grin only grew wider. “But we didn’t say anything,” he protested, entirely unconvincingly.

“You were _about _to. I could tell.”

“Ooo-kay, Orae,” Remy trilled in a sing-song-y voice. “Whatever you sayyyyy~.”

“Orae,” Zarah said.

They turned around, face an icy mask. “_Yes?_”

Zarah bit the inside of her cheek. “…can I say goodbye to Vivienne?”

“_This is the greatest day of my life,_” Kihri whispered in awe.

A few minutes later, while Orae cleaned up the shattered plate from the kitchen floor, Remy followed Zarah to the door, continuing to chatter. Zarah had mostly tuned him out, using her years of experience doing the same thing to Kihri, but he hadn’t seemed to mind, and in fact had started talking to _Kihri _instead, with Zarah absent-mindedly relaying her sister’s words.

“…really?!” Remy was saying. “That’s so cool! How does that work with the whole ‘ghost’ thing?”

“Eh,” Kihri replied (through Zarah). “I’ll tell you more about it when I don’t have to talk through my sister. I died before puberty, though, so that helped a lot.”

“Ooh, lucky. Wait, does that mean you look like you did when you died?”

“No, god. That’d be _awful, _can you even imagine? ‘Hi, I’m Kihri, I know I look like a child but I’m actually a legal adult!’ Utterly horrifying.” Then, having tuned back in to the conversation, Zarah added, “Kihri _was_ very cute kid, though.”

Remy blinked. “Oh, wait, was that Zarah saying that? This is _confusing_.”

“That one was me, yes.” She opened the door, stepping out into the hotel hallway.

“Wait!” Orae’s voice snapped, and Zarah turned back as they stalked into view. “You… where are you going?”  
Zarah shrugged. “Out. I left phone number on pad on couch, you can call me.”

“No, I meant…” they hesitated. “Do you have somewhere to… I know you’re homeless, so… if you’re comfortable sleeping on a couch…” They trailed off, fists clenched at their side. “You can stay with us. If you need to.”

“Awwww!” Remy cooed, clutching his hands in front of him. “That’s _so sweet!_”

“Shut up!” Orae barked. “I don’t trust her, and I want to keep an eye on her so-”

“Orae’s ni-ice, Orae’s ni-ice!”

It was a sorely tempting offer. She could just walk back inside, and not have to face any of the complicated emotions she knew she had to. “…thank you,” she said eventually. “But… I think I do have somewhere to go.”

* * *

When the door opened, Zarah looked up with a hesitant, nervous smile.

“…hi,” she said.

Wordlessly, Mulunesh Bzuayehu stepped back, welcoming her inside.

Zarah Vyas came in from the cold, and shut the door behind her.


	23. (Bonus Track)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which loose ends remain so

Abigail Huan stared at the backpack.

The backpack... was a backpack.

Abigail took a sip of her wine.

The backpack continued to be a backpack.

“...Zarah’s never coming back for you, is she.”

* * *

END OF BOOK ONE

* * *

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Twenty-Three is still being written, so watch this space: I'll edit this with a specific date as soon as I have one. The 'book' terminology is mostly just organisational - the story continues directly on, and it's Chapter Twenty-Three, not Book Two, Chapter One, mostly because the latter would be annoying.
> 
> as always, thank you for reading!


	24. Me And My Husband

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which we wallow in past mistakes

“That’s not a happy face, huh?”

Margot glanced up, expression neutral. “What- ah. Sarcasm, I see. Because I never have a happy face.”

Fiona dropped herself into the chair next to Margot, grinning easily. “Well, look at you! You really can teach an old dog new tricks!”

“Hm. Maybe they’ll be able to teach you not to call me old, then.”

“You _are _old.”

“I’m old_er_, not old. And, as I constantly remind you, only by two years.”

“Older is older!”

“And wiser, to follow the sayings.”

“Well, can’t argue with that.” Fiona settled back in her chair, draping one arm loosely over the back. “What’cha working on?”

Margot set down her pen, closing the notebook she’d been writing in. “Nothing that would be of interest to you, unfortunately.”

“Aww, that’s not fair! You know I make an effort.”

“You do, and I appreciate it.” Margot patted her knee twice. “If that’s the case, then you might be interested in the fact that I am currently working on the relative extraction, saturation and regeneration rates of regional soil samples to see how different mineral contents can affect the formation of ephemeral phenomenon.”

Fiona nodded slowly. “I see.”

“Really? Repeat it back to me.”

“You’re currently working on the relative extraction, saturation and… regeneration rates of… soil samples, to see how different…” She trailed off.

Margot patted her knee again. “You know, that was actually better than you’ve done in the past.”

“Hey,” Fiona grinned, “go me. I’ll be doing a thesis in no time.”

Margot didn’t smile, but Fiona had known her long enough to read the amusement in her eyes. “Let’s leave that hypothesis untested for now.”

“Fine by me.” Fiona stood, and Margot gave her a once-over. “Like what you see?” Fiona drawled, faux-seductively.

“Are you going somewhere?” Margot asked, completely blowing past the innuendo. “You aren’t normally dressed before lunch.”

“First of all, ouch. Second of all… I kinda thought we could go out, go to the park, get some food, but if you’re busy…”

Margot glanced back at her work, considering. She _was _busy; ‘in the zone’, as Fiona would sometimes call it. Her instinct was to agree, and make plans some other time, but their last argument had been about how Fiona felt like she was always the second priority to her work. Margot knew she tended to be oblivious, but even she could recognise something that obvious.

“I think it might be a good time to take a break, actually,” she said, standing up as well. “Where were you thinking for lunch?”

Fiona grinned hesitantly. “…you sure? You’re not gonna… fall behind, or something?”

“Oh, I will,” Margot assured her, beginning to tidy away her work and so missing the way the other woman’s face briefly soured. “But I can make it up later. And, as you pointed out, it’s a beautiful day. It would be a shame to let it go to waste.”

Fiona shook her head amusedly. “Ms. Metzin, you never fail to surprise me.”

Margot raised an eyebrow. “Ms. Metzin now, is it?”

“What?” Fiona teased. “Would you prefer Y-”

Margot stopped her with a finger to the lips. “You are the _only _person who thinks that is cute.”

“Oh, that can’t be true! It’s such a cute name!”

Margot frowned. “Only old women and politicians are called Yanis. Do I look like either of those to you?”

Fiona smirked, and went to answer, but a deep, heavy cough interrupted her. She turned her head to the side, covering her mouth with her elbow as the fit slowly petered off.

“Are you okay?” Margot asked.

“Ah, fine,” Fiona replied, voice hoarse. “No need to stress.”

Margot glanced down at the sleeve she’d coughed into, and found it speckled with blood. “Fiona…”

“Seriously, don’t worry about it. We both know I’ve got another couple of months yet.”

Margot frowned. “Yes, of course… it’s only that I thought…” She glanced around, and for the first time, noticed the surroundings. “We weren’t living here when I was doing my thesis, I’m sure of it. And the blood didn’t come until later. When we’d moved to the Rheinwald.” Margot glanced at the clock, and found it indecipherable. “I’m dreaming, I think.”

Fiona grimaced. “Ah. You sure?”

“Yes.” She opened her notebooks and showed them to the other woman. “I can’t read any of this.”

“Hey, I can never read any of it anyway.”

“…goodbye, Fiona,” she sighed, and woke up.

* * *

Yanis Margot Metzin came to, and found herself face-down on her desk in the dark.

With a low groan, she sat upright, rubbing at the eye that had been squished against the desk and was now all gummy. The disorientation wasn’t as bad as it usually was – if she realised she was dreaming before it ended, it usually helped her reassert her sense of reality.

The deep sense of loss and longing, on the other hand, was just as bad. Worse, perhaps, because she was more likely to forget a dream that ended without her becoming lucid. Dreams like the one she’d just had… tended to stick around.

She growled in frustration, shaking her head as she sat upright, as if the physical motion could jar out all the miserable emotion.

A glance at the window told her it was night – not particularly a problem, as she’d been nocturnal more often than not in the almost-decade since leaving Gaithe. Her sleep schedule was still a little disturbed, though – moving her various resources out of Kaila had involved interacting with a number of other people during daylight hours, necessitating that she adjust accordingly.

It had taken the better part of the two months that had passed since the incident at the school, but she considered it the better part of valour. The unfortunate necessity of maintaining a functioning and unsuspicious ‘normal’ life meant that she had to do things like hand in a resignation notice to her work, end her lease, pay her bills in full. The job at Aruspex had been nothing more than a means to an end – they regularly managed the finances of companies who imported and exported certain materials she required – but there was no sense in burning a bridge unless it was necessary. It rankled, giving up that avenue, but she could no longer afford to be publicly accessible, at least until her current pursuers were dealt with.

She stood, slow and sore, and trudged over to turn the lights on. Falling asleep on her work had been a life-long occurrence for her, but she couldn’t bounce back from it the way she used to – her neck and lower back both felt stiff and painful when she moved, and the fluorescent lights stabbed into her eyes when they turned on.

Fiona had always made fun of her for that, the way she refused to use blacklight to smooth away her aches and pains, but Yanis had never changed her stance. The spectrochroma was a _tool_, to be used only when necessary. It was the same reason she chose to age – mortality was too precious a thing to waste.

The new workspace was smaller than her one in Kaila had been, and less spacious – some of her notes and records had to remain in their boxes, piled up against the walls. A workbench was built into the back wall, spanning the entire width of the room and continuing around the northmost corner to create an ‘L’ shape. She’d only finished getting all of the equipment installed, organised and functioning the day before, and had just begun transferring the pen-and-paper work she’d been doing in the interim when she’d drifted off.

Now that she thought of it, that factor probably explained the dream’s specific contents to a degree. She’d always had a preference for physical materials, not just because of the added security; pencil and paper simply made it easier to organise her work in a way that reflected how it appeared in her brain. Fiona had-

Yanis smacked herself in the side of the head, hard. _Enough! _Wallowing in her own misery achieved nothing, especially when she had already lost valuable time and progress.

As if to remind her, a low snuffling noise came from the next room over, plaintive and confused.

“It’s okay, Bernard,” she called out, voice hoarse with sleep. “I’m coming.”

In his pen, Bernard was standing upright, head darting around in foggy confusion.

He was an old stag, wiry and gristly and unfit for eating. From all accounts, he had a good life, which was now nearing its end, and so they had been quite happy to sell him off to Yanis with an assurance that he would not suffer unduly.

“Shh,” Yanis said softly, stroking a hand over his head in gentle, repetitive motions. “It’s okay, Bernard. It’s alright.”

Slowly, the pig relaxed, settling back down. She’d always been better with animals than people, and hadn’t quite managed to harden her heart to them the same way she had humans. Bernard had eaten a luxurious meal, painkillers and anaesthetic discretely mixed, and now he drifted off for what would likely be the last time.

Yanis sat with him, petting the pig and murmuring gentle nonsense as his breathing slowed and his small eyes drifted shut. After a few minutes, she shook him gently, and found him unresponsive.

“Goodbye, Bernard,” Yanis said quietly. “I wish you could know that you’re helping to make the world a better place.”

It had been a while, since she’d worked with animals instead of humans. Once she’d moved to human trials, there had been little point in backtracking. Now, though, that people knew her name and her face, a greater degree of caution was required, and her previous methods could be used to track her.

Besides that, the encounter with the girl and her allies in Kaila had sparked something in her brain, a slightly different branch of experimentation, and she was not going to use untested theory in a human trial.

She took a breath, focused, and drew on the blacklight.

The familiar feeling washed over her, aches and pains being wiped away as she reached down to draw essence out of the ground below her. Dangerously seductive as always, the lack of pain. When she judged she’d accumulated a sufficient amount, she placed a hand gently on Bernard’s leg and closed her eyes.

It was odd, how easily something that had taken her years to figure out now came naturally, without conscious thought. The trick, she’d learned, was to do with visualisation more than anything else. It was a fact that had frustrated her to no end in early stages of her work – she was not a particularly _visual _person, after all, and preferred clean, discrete data. But that was always the way, with the spectrochroma, and she’d long since made her peace with acquiring new skills.

Instead of externalising the essence into ghostlight, as she would otherwise, she carefully extruded it through her hand. The skin-to-skin contact was essential – any sort of gap would cause the essence to materialise to some degree, in the same way certain materials would instantly oxidise when exposed to the atmosphere. Moving directly from living flesh to living flesh kept the essence in its etherial form, which was necessary for the next phase to have any chance of success.

As Yanis slowly, carefully saturated the limb, Bernard occasionally twitched or snorted slightly. Whenever it happened, she gently petted his head, like before, lulling him back into unconsciousness. Yanis was given to understand that the process was quite painful, but unlike certain types of pain, such as damage to a shade, anaesthetics had proven to dull the sensation effectively.

Achieving optimal saturation took about ten minutes of continuous work, and Yanis was sweating by the end of it from the mental strain. Carefully, she placed her left hand on the leg, and once she felt confident in a complete seal, removed the right hand. Once again, visualisation was important. The next step required a great deal of mental automation on her part, like driving a car or playing a musical instrument, and so in this case, separating the different parts of the procedure by body part enabled her to more easily switch her approach.

The particular visual Yanis had settled one, one that elided the bevy of complicated and precise work she had learned to do subconsciously, was not unlike fish scales – a tiny, shimmering web of overlapping, miniscule shards. That was the reason the essence had to stay in its etherial form – it allowed a degree of flexibility in the physical construction that actualised ghostlight, or even physically-manifested essence, simply couldn’t. In essence, she needed to create a colloid, not unlike ferrofluid, using the unformed essence as the suspending medium for the tiny flakes of half-formed ghostlight – with the additional caveat of being dispersed _through _the flesh and muscle of the limb, rather than occupying a physical space.

Needless to say, it was _fiendishly _complex. To an outside observer, it would have seemed like Yanis sat in the small pen for almost two hours, completely motionless, sweat dripped down her brow. Only careful observation would have revealed the shifting inconsistencies in the corona of blacklight around her, and the faintest of red glows leaking out from underneath the palm of her hand.

Completion, when it came, was not a single moment but rather a slow winding-down – the variation in her corona becoming less intense, the glow fading, the strain in her face lessening – until, finally, she took a deep breath and relaxed as it winked out entirely.

Bernard moaned and shifted slightly, obviously sensing that something had changed even through the sedation. That was a good sign – in past iterations, she’d taken excruciating effort to make sure that the dermal armour had connections to the nerves, in order to provide sense feedback. This time, though, she’d made no such effort, so to see some response anyway was promising.

Of course, it would require further testing.

She stood, brushing off her thighs, and pulled a small recording device out of one pocket, turning it on and placing it on a nearby table.

“Iteration 342,” she said out loud. “Subject: standard male boar of Amethin stock, sedated. Standard subdermal mesh, no nervous system interlinkage.”

She held a hand out to the side, and began to glow with blacklight once more. There was nothing unique or complicated about her work this time. For the briefest of instants, faint red lines traced an outline in the air, then snapped into existence. The spaces between the lines filled with red ghostlight, and a large sledgehammer, identical to the one the girl had appropriated, fell into her waiting hand.

“Ideal responses are haptic feedback and force distribution,” she said, taking the hammer in both hands. She brought the head up close to her own, and rested it against her forehead for a moment, eyes closed.

“I will not allow this to be in vain,” she swore quietly.

Then, she opened her eyes.

“Testing begins,” Yanis Metzin said, and the hammer swung down.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> next update: Ch. 24, TBA


	25. Race You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which old hurts resurface and zarah has an unexpected encounter

“Shirin! Wait up!”

Shirin giggled, skidding down to a stop at the bottom of the hill.

“Catch up, slowpoke!” she called back to her sister, planting her hands on her hips.

“_You’re_ the slowpoke!” came the immediate, accusatory reply, and moments later, Kihri came tumbling over the crest of the hill towards her.

Shirin stepped to the side as her sister rolled past, blowing a wet raspberry.

“Told you I was better,” Shirin said smugly.

Kihri clambered to her feet. “You _cheated_,” she accused, sticking a finger in Shirin’s face.

“I did not!”

“Did _too_.”

“How?!”

“You just did!”

Shirin laughed, pushing her sister back a few steps. “You’re just a sore lo~ser,” she sing-songed.

“Oh yeah? Well, I’ll- I’ll tell mom that you stole those cookies last week!”  
“_You _stole those cookies!”

Kihri grinned wickedly. “You can’t prove that.”

Shirin scowled, folding her arms. “I didn’t steal the cookies, and I _didn’t _cheat.”

“Oh yeah?” Kihri challenged. “Prove it! Race to the river, loser stole the cookies.”

“Deal,” Shirin said immediately, and then Kihri hooked her foot around her ankle and yanked it out from under her. Shirin hit the ground in a storm of flailing limbs, shrieking wildly, while a cackling Kihri dashed off in the direction of the river.

“_Cheater!_” Shirin yelled furiously after her as she scrambled to her feet, taking off after her sister.

The two twins were a study in contrasts as they ran through the trees. Shirin was the taller of the two, already lean and lanky despite her young age, whereas Kihri had a solid, slightly stocky build, which her lack of height only served to emphasise. Shirin’s white hair whipped out behind her, whereas Kihri’s dull black braid bounced against her back with the motion of her steps. Both wore similar clothing, simple shirts and loose pants held up with cord in basic colours, but Shirin’s were too short while Kihri’s flapped over her knees and elbows but pinched at the armpits. Only the cast of their faces gave any hint as to their relation – they both had the same tall, proud nose and heavy-lidded eyes, although Shirin’s was noticeably distinguished by two prominent moles near her left nostril, and the baby fat around Kihri’s jawline softened her features compared to the harsh lines of Shirin’s. No-one could deny they were siblings, but at first glance, it wouldn’t be odd to not realise they were twins.

Of course,it was a moot point; their village was small enough that everyone knew them anyway, even without their propensity for mischief-making and general rambunctiousness.

Kihri had managed to gain a decent lead with her trick, but Shirin was both fitter and had longer legs, and by the time they were halfway to the river they were neck-and-neck. Kihri tried to trip Shirin again, but her sister was ready for it and danced out of the way. Kihri stumbled and Shirin took the lead, laughing as she pulled ahead.

By the time Kihri made it to the river, Shirin had been there long enough to find a seat on a rock. She splashed her feet idly in the water as Kihri staggered up, panting and doubled-over.

“No… fair…” Kihri said through gasps. “You’re… taller…”

Shirin stuck out her tongue at her. “You should eat your beans like Maman says, then.”

Kihri made a face. “That’s not… how it works.”

“Yes too it is! I eat all my beans, and I’m taller, so it works.”

In lieu of a comeback, Kihri chose instead to push her sister into the river.

An hour or two later, the twins trudged back towards the village, clothes and hair still soggy, bickering still continuing.

Azhav was a small, quiet place, deep in the sovereignty and isolated even for a Pashtari village. When any of the children asked about this, they were usually told that their rice farms were the only viable land in the area, which was usually convincing until they grew a little older.

The twins’s argument got them a few amused looks from passers-by as they walked along the rough stone path into the village proper. It had been a lifelong occurrence for the twins – most everyone knew their parents in some capacity, or were friends with their older siblings, or were related to them in some fashion. Recently, though, some of the passing glances had turned sour, or even taken on a note of condescending pity. Kihri ignored those ones, but Shirin met each one with all the blistering rage and righteous fury that only an eight-year-old could muster.

The twins took an ambling path through the village, criss-crossing its haphazard streets and lanes, taking their time on their way back towards their house. Subtly, Kihri attempted to steer them away from the small copse of trees where most of the other children spent their free time, but Shirin either missed her signals or chose to ignore them.

There were about half a dozen other kids in the copse, ranging from a few years younger than the twins to half a decade older. The older ones tracked Shirin and Kihri as they walked past, and Shirin straightened her spine and puffed out her chest as she met their stares head-on. Kihri, on the other hand, tried to keep her sister between her and the other children at all times, posture bowed and neck bent.

The other children sneered, but didn’t say anything – it had already been well known that Shirin would fly into a screaming rage in defense of her twin, and recent events had only served to reinforce that reputation.

“Don’t,” Kihri murmured, tugging at her sister’s hand.

“They’re just being a bunch of stupid,” and then Shirin said a word she’d picked up from their sister, that would’ve gotten her a solid whupping if their parents heard. “You gotta show them you’re not afraid.”

“I _am _afraid,” Kihri said, tugging more insistently. “Just _leave _it, Shi.”

Shirin shot one last fierce glare at the other kids, then finally turned away. “Fine,” she grumbled. “I’m _not _scared.”

Kihri’s usual mischievous manner returned as they rounded a corner and moved out of sight. “_Suuuuure _you’re not. Scaredy-cat.”

“_You’re _the scaredy-cat,” Shirin muttered indignantly, but she didn’t let go of her sister’s hand.

The Vyas home was towards the outskirts of the village, where the individual buildings were more spread out from each other. It was a four-generational household, and thus took up more space than the two or three-generational families, who tended to live closer in to the centre.Two goats grazed idly at the long grasses around the house, and a brown cat sunned on a windowsill.

The twins slowed as they approached the house, glancing around cautiously.

Not, however, cautiously enough.

A hand clapped down on each of their shoulders, and the twins froze.

“_There_ you are,” a voice hissed, and they both turned back to find their eldest sister Shadin towering over them. A decade older than them at eighteen, she was closer in build and appearance to Shirin than Kihri, but with dull black hair instead of white.

“_Shad~i_,” the twins whined in perfect synchronicity.

Their sister dragged them over to a nearby bench and pushed them down onto it, standing over them with her arms folded and a sour expression on her face.

“I said _one _thing,” their sister hissed. “One thing. Can either of you even tell me what it was?”

Kihri hung her head awkwardly, but Shirin refused to back down. “Stay at the house,” she said, lifting her chin.

“Oh, so you _did _hear me! So you have _no _reason whatsoever to not have listened!”

“We just wanted to go to the river,” Kihri said quietly, one foot scratching at the dirt.

“That’s still running off, ███████.”

Shirin and Kihri erupted in simultaneous protest.

“Don’t call me that!” Kihri yelled.

“That’s not her name.” Shirin said at the same time, quiet but firm.

Shadin rolled her eyes. “Stars, are you two _still _on this?”

“My name is _Kihri,_” Kihri insisted, stamping a foot on the ground. “I told you!”

“Oh? And what about you, Shirin? Do you have some fancy new make-pretend name as well.”

“You’re being _mean_,” Shirin said, scowling.

“And you two are being annoying,” Shadin snapped. “Look, just… don’t run off anymore, okay? Maman will have my ass if you two got lost _again._”

“We weren’t _lost_,” Shirin insisted.

“That’s not the _point_.” Shadin sighed, rubbing her forehead. “Go inside. Stay in your room. Or I’m telling Maman you stole those cookies last week.”

She endured the twins’ overlapping protestations for a few seconds, then clapped her hands together loudly, silencing them.

“_Inside,_” she hissed. “_Now._”

They went inside.

The room they shared with their brother was at the back of the house, small and cramped, beds pushed against the two walls and a wobbly dresser against the third. Simran was twelve and starting to smell, and it lingered in the room even when he wasn’t there.

Shirin stalked inside and threw herself down on the bed with a huff. Kihri, following behind, carefully closed the door and sat down beside her.

“Do you want to read?” she offered tentatively. They had a small collection of comic books in Brechtin, primarily because none of the other children wanted books they couldn’t understand. The twins liked to make up a story to match the images, slightly different every time.

“No,” Shirin said, flopping backwards with her arms out. “I want to _leave.”_

“…leave the house?”

“Leave all of this!”

“You want to… leave the village?”

Shirin turned her head to look at her incredulously . “You _don’t?!_”

Kihri shrank inwards. “…our family is here.”

“Our family _sucks_,” Shirin insisted loudly. “Who cares where they are!”

“But… they’re our _family._”

Shirin grabbed her sister’s hand, squeezing it. “_We’re _our family. We don’t _need _them. We don’t need _anyone._ Okay?”

Kihri glanced up at her sister. “…okay.”

* * *

“…up, wake up, wake up wake up wake up wake up wake _up_-”

“<M’up, m’up>,” Zarah mumbled into the crook of her elbow. “<Five minutes>.”

“_Zarah_,” Kihri’s voice hissed in her ear. “Customer. Wake. _Up._”

It took her a few seconds to process and translate the words, but as soon as she did she jolted upright, hastily wiping the thin trail of drool from her chin.

“About time,” Kihri said, rolling her eyes. “Anyone else would have fired you by now, you know?”

“<Shut up>,” Zarah muttered under her breath.

The two months since the incident at the school had been… an adjustment, to put it lightly.

The first night, she’d fallen asleep the instant her head touched the pillow, still exhausted and drained. The second night, though, she’d recovered enough that sleep hadn’t come immediately, and lying there in a strange bed in an unfamiliar apartment, she was overcome with the absolute _certainty _that something awful was about to happen, that she had to get out _that _instant or she was going to die, and get Mrs. B killed along with her.

She’d been halfway out the door with her bag when Kihri caught up with her, and then their argument had gotten loud enough to wake Mrs. B. Zarah hadn’t been able to leave with her right there, and they’d ended up sitting down over the kitchen table and talking through how she felt.

It had been…

To have someone to talk to (that wasn’t Kihri),to have someone _listen, _actually listen and understand what she was saying…

It had been-

Nice.

It had been nice.

She still had trouble sleeping, too quick to wake up at the slightest noise or disturbance, too worked-up to sleep at all. Sometimes, she would get up, take her bag, and just sit in front of the door; not intending to leave, but not feeling safe without the constant reminder that she _could._

A quick check on the security camera showed Zarah the customer browsing through the snack isle, so she took a few moments to tidy herself up, hiding the textbook she’d fallen asleep on before checking her appearance in a small clamshell mirror.

A stranger looked back at her.

Two months later, the furor over the Eastwood Massacre was starting to die down, if only because of a lack of new evidence. In the immediate aftermath, though, it had been all over the news, and while Zarah’s white hair wasn’t enough of a distinguishing feature on its own, they’d decided that it was better to be safe than sorry.

So now, Zarah tied her hair up in a tight bun in the mornings and covered it with a beanie, in a pale golden colour that she was secretly quite fond of. To add to the effect, Mrs. B had sewn sections of a wig into it, so it looked like Zarah was wearing it over straight, black, chin-length hair. It was a little unnerving, how drastically it changed her face – the lines that were normally smoothed out by her wiry mop now seemed even sharper, her already-long face seeming even more so without the wider profile that her real hair created.

The colour, on the other hand, just brought back memories of the past, which was probably a contributing factor to the number of dreams she’d been having about it after years of putting their childhood out of her mind.

“You’ve got a bit of hair poking out back here,” Kihri said, and Zarah glanced around to find her floating behind her chair, invisible to her mirror.  
She nodded her thanks, and reached back to tuck the loose bit of hair back up underneath the beanie.

“Okay, now, what’s your line?”

Zarah sighed. “Hello, and welcome to Market Square. How can I help you today?”

“Good. But when you do it for real, try and sound _a little less_ like your fingernails are being pulled out.”

“Only a little less?”

Kihri shrugged one shoulder. “I dream big, but not _that_ big.”

Zarah suppressed a snort, turning forward as the customer approached. It was a teenage girl in casual clothing, bearing a bag of chips and a few chocolate bars. She met Zarah’s eyes, and frowned a little.

“Hello,” Zarah said, doing her best to sound cheery, “and welcome to Market Square. How can I help you today?”

“Just these, please,” the girl said, placing her items on the counter. She seemed distracted, and her eyes kept flicking up to Zarah’s face and then back down again.

Zarah was familiar with being stared at, so she did her best to ignore it while she scanned the food (with Kihri hovering over her shoulder and offering reminders of how the register worked).

“Here is your change,” Zarah said after she’d paid, reaching out to drop it into her hand. “Have a nice day.”

“Thanks-” The girl’s head snapped up, her eyes going wide. “Oh shit, it’s _you_!”

Zarah blinked. “I- excuse me?”

She cackled. “Oh, I _knew _you looked familiar, but I just _couldn’t _place it. I’m _terrible _with faces, y’know, but I didn’t think it was _this _bad, yeesh. If I should remember _anyone, _it’d be you, right?”

_I have… no idea who this is. _

She wanted to turn to Kihri for help, but the girl was looking at her too intensely for that to go unnoticed.

Clearly, her confusion must’ve shown – the girl’s face fell slightly. “Oh. You don’t… remember me. That makes sense, I don’t know why I thought-”

“_Mary!_” Kihri half-shouted in Zarah’s ear, making her flinch. “I _knew _I knew it!”

That name, finally, stirred up something in Zarah’s memory.

“From the school?” she asked without thinking. The chatty, strangely-fearless girl, the one who’d reminded her of Kihri.

The girl immediately perked up. “Yeah! Mary! And you’re-” she swung an invisible hammer, making a _whoosh _noise with her mouth, “-right?”

Zarah flinched, waving her down. “Not- be_ careful_, please.”

“Ohhh, right,” Mary said, “I got it. Keepin it on the down-low, yeah, okay.” She tapped the side of her nose and winked. “Love what you did with your hair, by the way. Very chic.”

“A wig,” Zarah said flatly. “You- _Mary_.” The use of her name got a strange reaction out of the girl, one Zarah couldn’t quite puzzle out. “Please,” she said quietly, “do not tell anyone. I do not- I _am _not-” She dug her nails into the palm of her hand. “This is my life,” she whispered.

“Oh,” Mary said. “Oh, yeah. Of course, I didn’t think you’d- it’s fine, it’s fine, I totally get it. I just- I didn’t think I’d ever see you again, y’know?” She rubbed the back of her head, looking down, and for a second Zarah almost thought she was _blushing_. “You saved my life, yeah? The whole- knight in shining armour shit, but more like dusty armour really, ha. I wanted… I wanted to t-” She pursed her lips. “_Thank you_,” she managed to force out, acting like it had taken real physical effort.

Zarah looked away, an uncomfortable warm feeling swelling in her chest. “…not necessary. I… had other reasons for being there.”

“Dude,” Mary scoffed. “I don’t care if you were there to steal our all shit. You still saved _literally _all our lives with your… magic bullshit.”

Zarah shushed her again. “_Quiet, _please! Not that word, either.”

“What?” Mary asked at a lower volume. “You’re trying to pretend you _aren’t _some freaky wizard zombie with glowy powers? Cause-” She cut herself off, eyes going wide. “Holy shit, wait, you’re a freaky wizard zombie with glowy powers!”

“I reject that title,” Zarah said sourly.

“Really?” Kihri said. “I thought you’d be all over it, personally.”

“No, that’s not-” Mary hurriedly pulled out her phone and began scrolling. “Can’t _believe _I didn’t make the connection before, my god. My brain is _not _working. Anyway, if I saw some more freaky glowy shit, that’d be like, your department, right? When you’re out and about, doing your thing?”

“I- I am not have a _thing_,” Zarah protested weakly. “I am _not _‘out and about’!”

“Oh?” Mary said, turning her phone so the screen faced Zarah. “So you have no idea who _this _is?”

When one was a figure of public interest, the smart thing to do would be to avoid drawing attention to oneself or going out in public.

Zarah was not always good at doing the smart thing.

On the screen of Mary’s phone, there was a photo. It was blurry and dark, having clearly been taken from a distance at night, but there was enough detail to make out a figure wearing a bright yellow raincoat.

Without looking, Zarah could feel Kihri’s glare burning twin holes in her skull.

She sighed, sliding a piece of paper and a pen under the plastic screen to Mary. “Your number,” she said. “Tell me _later_.”

“Not now?”

“No,” Zarah said. “I’m working.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> the censor box is non-diagetic, to be clear.
> 
> unfortunately, updates are slowing down to half pace - this year has destroyed my productivity, and my buffer along with it. in terms of updates here, that just means that it'll be longer until the next full chapter, and I can't say when it will go up for a while yet - i'm literally down to writing for the update.
> 
> id like to not have to do this, but id like a lot of things.
> 
> stay safe, and as always, thank you for reading


	26. New York, I Love You But You’re Bringing Me Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> in which the twins get down and dirty

“What did I say?!” Kihri demanded indignantly. “What did I _fucking _say?!”

Zarah steadfastly ignored her as she laced up her boots.

“I said! I _fucking _said that as soon as-” Kihri stopped cold. “…you know what?” she said after a few moments. “I give up. It’s not worth it! I give up!”

“<Took you long enough>,” Zarah muttered under her breath.

Having a room to herself was still something of an unfamiliar concept to Zarah. Even when she’d been a child, she and Kihri had always shared with at least two of their siblings – and then, of course, the whole thing became moot. As such, the room in Mrs B’s small apartment that she’d been staying in for the last two months was still almost entirely bare of decorations or a personal touch. She’d finally worked up the courage a few weeks beforehand to move some of her clothes into the chest of drawers (although her backpack under the bed still contained everything she’d need if necessary), but the only outward sign that someone was living there were the rumpled sheets, and the shoes resting at the foot of the bed.

Zarah stood up, keeping an eye on Kihri. Judging by the scowl on her face and the way her arms were folded, ‘giving up’ had clearly been more aspirational than actual.

_Three… _Zarah thought. _Two… One…_

“All I’m going to say,” Kihri said suddenly, the words bursting out like she’d only been holding them back through sheer force of will, “is that I _said _the raincoat made you more recognisable, and here we are! You wouldn’t have been recognised if you _weren’t _wearing it!”

“<And _I _said>,” Zarah replied as she picked up her backpack, “<that the raincoat is already associated with the school, and _not _with a random checkout girl at a corner shop>.”

“<And yet, you still got recognised as the random checkout girl>! And you _also _said you’d make more of an effort with your Brechtin!”

“I _have _been. <So now that I am, you can stop enforcing this stupid thing where you make us talk in it all the time. Besides, Mary was the only person to see me up close; no-one else would have made that connection.>”

“Oh,” Kihri said, suddenly sly, “so she’s _Mary _now, huh?”

The eyebrow waggle made it clear she was implying something, but Zarah chose to remain firmly in the realm of the explicit. “<I didn’t know her name, and now I do>.”

“Uh-huhhhh,” Kihri said. “Suuuuuuure. I toooootaaaaallllyyyyyy believe youuuuu-”

Zarah rolled her eyes, and walked through her to open the door.

Kihri huffed. “Rude.”

When they emerged into the main living space, Zarah found Mrs. B sitting at the table, hunched over a messy spray of papers and a calculator, reading glasses perched on the tip of her nose.

“Evening,” she said, glancing up. “You’re going out?”

Zarah nodded, suppressing the instinct to defend herself. It still felt strange not to have to, but she was finally starting to internalise the conversation they’d had the first time around.

_Mrs. B nodded calmly. “Okay. What time do you think you’ll be back?”_

_Zarah stared at her in shock. When she’d declared her intent to go out, she’d been prepared to have to argue her case, and the sudden lack of resistance had left her off-balance. “I… do not understand.”_

_“I just want to know whether I should leave some food out for you, or put it in the fridge for you to microwave.”_

_“You… are not stopping me?”_

_“You’re not stopping her?!” Kihri asked at the same time, significantly more indignantly._

_“Do you .. want me to?”_

_“Yes!” Kihri yelled._

_“N-no,” Zarah stammered. “It is- why not?”_

_“I’m not your parent,” Mrs. B said, “and I don’t have any authority to tell you what to do. I’d prefer you didn’t, because you’re putting yourself at risk, but that’s not up to you. All I can do is give you the best possible chance to come back h- to come back safely.” She smiled gently. “So, should I leave food out?”_

_Zarah blinked at her. Slowly, she crossed the room to her side, and hesitantly placed a hand on the older woman’s forearm._

_Mrs B. patted it gently, Zarah’s unspoken message clear as day. “You’re welcome.”_

The initial intent, that first time around, had only been to climb up onto the roof and get some fresh air, but once she was up there, she couldn’t help but… _roam _a little – not very far, and fully intending to return, to be fair. It was just that her imagination had plagued her with scenes of someone disappearing from an alleyway or a stoop, only to show up as a mutilated corpse weeks later. The ones involving people being slaughtered there and then were admittedly less realistic, considering how definitively Paose had been dealt with, but they were no less vivid or terrifying for it.

“Might be late,” Zarah said, pulling herself back to the present day. “Have to look into something.”

“I won’t wait up, then. Do you have your key?” Zarah patted her pocket in confirmation. “Okay. Be careful, then.”

“She’d _better_,” Kihri muttered sullenly.

Zarah shot her a quick glare, then looked back to find Mrs. B looking at her with curiosity. The topic of Kihri was… an issue they hadn’t quite gotten to yet, but it was fairly obvious Mrs. B knew that _something _was going on, even if she didn’t know the exact details.

“I will,” Zarah answered instead of explaining.

There’d be time enough for that later.

* * *

The address Mary had texted Zarah turned out to be the entrance to an abandoned subway station on the other side of town. The girl waited outside, and she looked up from her phone and waved eagerly as Zarah approached. She’d clearly changed clothes – instead of the casual outfit she’d been wearing earlier in the day, she wore a dark skirt with knee-high socks, shiny heeled boots, a high-collared long-sleeved blouse. In fact… Zarah couldn’t tell for _sure, _but it almost looked like she’d put on subtle makeup, for some reason?

_Well, _she supposed, _it can’t be all that dangerous if she’s dressed like that. _

“Hi,” Mary said once Zarah was close enough to hear, sounding a little breathless for some reason. “Wow, you look… cool.”

Zarah glanced down at her clothes, puzzled. She wasn’t hiding her hair, and she’d thrown a yellow raincoat on top, but apart from that, her clothes weren’t all that different from what she’d been wearing before. Maybe ‘jeans and a sweatshirt’ was the height of fashion these days; it wasn’t like she’d know.

“Thanks,” she said. “You… look cool too?”

“Oh! I-” She hid her eyes behind a hand, grinning. “You think so?”

“…sure.” Between her flippancy when endangered, and now whatever this was, Zarah _really _didn’t understand her.

“I gotta ask,” Mary said, “is the raincoat, like. A thing?”

“A… thing?”

“Yeah, like. A fashion statement? Or, ooh, a costume.”

“_Yeah_, Zarah,” Kihri echoed snidely. “Please, explain _the deal _with the raincoat.”

In the aftermath of the school incident, it had come out that none of the staff or students had seen much more of Zarah than her hair colour, and the bright yellow raincoat she’d been wearing at the time. (Except for Mary, it turned out, but it seemed fairly evident by now that she’d kept that to herself). There were enough people of Pashtari descent in the city that her hair alone wasn’t an identifying feature, and so the raincoat had become something of a defining visual in the news.

Zarah’s decision to lean into it had not been well-received by her sister – their earlier argument being the latest example – but she still believed the logic was solid. Drawing on blacklight while _not _wearing it, or with her hair up, would just create more of an association with her ‘disguise’ – and if there was one thing Zarah’s life had taught her, it was that people usually only saw what they were looking for.

“Sure,” she said, “fashion statement. I state that I do not care about fashion.”

Mary laughed, a tiny little snort that she hastily tried to cover up. “Sorry, that was- it looks good, though! Good, and practical, and waterproof, and I’ll… stop talking now…”

Was she _blushing_? “It is fine,” Zarah said. She gestured at the subway entrance, concrete stairs leading down into the darkness. “This is it?”

Mary nodded quickly. “Yep yep yep. Well- I mean, the _subway station _isn’t the spooky ghost shit, but it’s. Here.”

“How did you find it?” Zarah asked, crouching to try and get a better view down the stairs.

“Oh, you know. I’m into urban exploration, I guess? Do you know what that is?”

“I… know both words on their own?”

Mary laughed. “Oh, well, it’s just like… finding old or weird places, in cities? And, y’know… _exploring_.”

“Okay… So, what is the point, then?”

“Oh, nice going, idiot,” Kihri said as Mary flinched.

“Sorry, sorry,” Zarah said hastily. “Not like that. Why do you do it, I mean?”

“I dunno, it’s fun? Like, finding all this stuff that people have left behind, or that never got used… it’s kind of like doing post-apocalypse exploration without the actual apocalypse, I guess?” Evidently, Zarah’s confusion must have shown on her face, because Mary chuckled a little guiltily. “Sorry. I just think it’s cool, really.”

“And it is not dangerous?”

“We-ell… it’s not _not _dangerous? B-but that’s not the point! The _point _is, when I was down there, I saw… _this_.”

She brandished her phone, and and Zarah stood up and leaned in to get a better look. Like the other photo she’d shown them, it was blurry and hard to make out (although in this case, it seemed more to do with a lack of light than distance). What little detail it was possible to make out was thanks to the soft light coming off the image’s subject – a blurry, bright red shape disappearing out of sight behind a pillar.

“Well,” Kihri said, “that sure is… red.”

Despite her sister’s sarcasm, Zarah had to admit that it did look an awful lot like ghostlight. _Not to mention that Metzin’s last lair had also been connected to the subway system…_

“Start from the beginning,” she said to Mary. “Where, when, more details.”

“Right. This would’ve been about… two weeks ago, now? On a Thursday, if that matters, and about this time of day. It wasn’t my first time down there, cause I try to be careful, but it was the furthest down I’d gone – I found a maintenance hatch maybe thirty or forty feet down the second track, and that let me into the maintenance _tunnels _which connected to another, lower set of tracks, which I followed up to another set of platforms.” She paused to take a breath. “_But_, that platform felt… _weird. _I don’t know how to describe it, but I almost felt like… I was underwater, I guess? Like, I didn’t have any trouble breathing, but there was this _pressure _on my chest, like when you dive down to the bottom of the pool.”

Zarah and Kihri exchanged a troubled glance. Her description was startlingly similar to what they’d both experienced from Remy on that first rooftop meeting with him and Orae. The possibility of this being a false alarm or unrelated incident was rapidly growing smaller.

“I’m not- crazy, right?” Mary asked hesitantly. “It didn’t _feel _like I was imagining it, but I guess I wouldn’t really know if I was, huh.”

“You are… probably not crazy,” Zarah admitted. “Sounds familiar, but I do not- _don’t _know you.”

Kihri gave her a little thumbs-up.

“Uh- okay?”

“That was where you saw it?” Zarah continued, ignoring her confusion.

“…yeah, up on the platform. There was…” She shuddered slightly. “I can’t prove it, but- I kept hearing _things _moving. Things as in _multiple. _And this sort of-” She opened her mouth and made a choked, hoarse sound, making Zarah wince away. “A noise like that, coming from multiple directions.”

“Well, that was horrifying,” Kihri muttered.

“I managed to get the photo,” Mary continued, “but then I booked it cause I do _not _want to be- eaten, or whatever.” She shuddered. “It was _fucking _creepy.”

“…sorry,” Zarah said. “That you went through that.”

“S’okay,” Mary said with a shrug. “Nothing actually _happened, _and hey, it meant I got to see y-” She clapped a hand over her mouth, going bright red.

Zarah ignored Kihri’s cacophonous laughter. Whatever was going on with Mary, it was none of her business. She was here for one reason and one reason only.

“Stand back,” she said to Mary, who hurriedly obliged.

Once she was sure the other girl was clear, Zarah stuck out her hand, and began gathering ghostlight.

Golden strands of light began to coalesce above her palm, tiny flecks that wove together into slightly-larger strands that then themselves wove into bigger strands, and so on, until a handful of lengths of ghostlight about the width of a finger twisted around themselves and came together into a golden sphere slightly smaller than a tennis ball, hovering an inch above her splayed palm.

Zarah let out the breath she’d been holding, aware of the sweat dripping down her brow. The last two months of practice had given her reason to be even more intimidated by Metzin than she already had been – it was a monumental effort to even form anything out of ghostlight in the first place, let alone to make it _permanent. _All of Zarah’s attempts so far had exploded violently the instant her control had slipped, as well as nearly every time they touched something else physical.

“_Cool_,” Mary whispered from behind her. Unusually, Zarah was inclined to agree. Despite everything… it _was _cool.

Between her blacklight and the glowing ghostlight, she could see a little bit further down the stairwell, but it clearly continued well beyond where the shadows swallowed the concrete.

Zarah lifted her hand, concentrating, and the sphere began to drift forward and down the stairs. It illuminated the stairway in an uneven sphere, the light’s progress slightly staggered as it dripped down each step, the ghostlight’s instability lending it a flickering, almost candle-like quality. It made it as far as the second landing without incident, but was starting to move far enough away that the initial sections were becoming shadowed once more. As she moved it down the next set of steps, though, Zarah thought she could start to see the beginnings of the platform beyond-

Something flickered across the stairwell.

Zarah flinched back, nearly losing control over her ghostlight. At the last second, she managed to dismiss it, turning the incipient explosion into a small fizzle. Unfortunately, that had the side effect of plunging the stairway back into darkness.

“What happened?” Mary said. “Did you see it?”

Zarah squinted down into the gloom, but whatever it had been, it didn’t reappear. “I saw… _something_.”

Mary nodded. “Yeah, that’s all I ever saw too. Just, you know.” She waved a hand. “Out of the corner of my eye. It _definitely _looked like your glowy light stuff, right?”

“Ghostlight,” Zarah corrected absently.

“Ooh, that’s _good_.”

“_Thank _you,” Kihri said. “Finally, someone who appreciates my genius. We should keep her.”

“We are _not-_” Zarah began to snap at her, but cut herself off when she remembered they had company. Slightly too late, however; the way Mary was glancing back and forth made it clear she’d noticed what was going on.  
“So, like,” the girl asked, “I wasn’t going to ask, but…?”

Zarah sighed. “My sister,” she said, pointing to where Kihri floated. “Ghost.”

“_Whoa,_” Mary breathed, eyes wide. “Hey, ghost sister. That’s so _cool._”

“I mean,” Kihri said sardonically, “I _did _die, but no one ever cares about that part, huh.”

“She says hello,” Zarah said

Kihri rolled her eyes. “Fuck off.”

“God, I have _so _many questions,” Mary said. “First-”

Zarah held up a hand, cutting her off. “Going to go look around. Thank you for the tip. Stay here if you want to stay, or go home if not.” She started descending down the stairs, drawing on the blacklight to provide illumination.

“Okay, but shouldn’t I come with you?” Mary asked, following her. “It’s just that-”

Zarah spun on her, fixing in her place with an icy glare.

“_Stay here_,” she repeated. Mary shrank back, eyes wide. “I can protect myself easier without you.”

“…oh. Right. Yeah. That makes sense,” she said, eyes downcast. “Sorry.”

It was like looking at a scolded puppy. “It is _not safe_,” she repeated, trying to emphasise the point. “It is not- I am not-” She growled in frustration. “<Kihri, how do I explain that it’s not a _rejection _or a judgment and that I’m just concerned?>”

Kihri snickered. “It’s not you, it’s me?”

Zarah sighed. “I can heal,” she said to Mary. “You?”

“Well, no…” Saints, why did she make Zarah feel so _guilty_? “I just thought…”

“No more death.”

It hadn’t been what she’d meant to say, but it had slipped out anyway. Mary froze, eyes wide.

“No more death,” Zarah repeated tonelessly. “Go home, Mary. _Please._”

When she turned back and continued descending, no footsteps followed behind.

As she ventured further down, the light from the surface faded entirely, and she flared blacklight to compensate. After the last two months of practice, she was starting to get a better sense of the power and where it overlapped with creating ghostlight. Those first few instinctual times, it had been a single act in her mind, but while forming ghostlight always required blacklight, the reverse wasn’t true.

It was something of its own, related but not intrinsic, and although she hadn’t figured out any uses for it besides a handy flashlight, she definitely felt like there was something… _more. _Something she hadn’t reached yet.

“Look at you,” Kihri said, interrupting her musings. “Lil’ Zarah, all grown up and breaking hearts.”

Zarah scoffed. “Breaking hearts? She not is _heartbreaking _because I tell- _told_ her not to come.”

There was a second of silence. “Oh my god,” Kihri said at last. “You really _are _that stupid.”

Zarah scowled as they reached the bottom of the steps. “Say what you mean or be quiet.”

“Dude. Bro. Zarah. Sis. Pal. That girl was crushing on you _so _hard.”

Zarah rolled her eyes. “Oh, so you are being stupid again. Good.” With a bit of focus, she found the ‘component’ of the blacklight that was the actual illumination and turned it up, increasing the glow until she could just make out the far wall. She wasn’t sure _how _she was doing it, exactly – like so many other things about the whole situation, it was mostly instinct and gut feelings.

“She literally blushed every time you said something, Z. Shit’s gay as hell.”

Zarah hopped down onto the track and began walking away from the platform. Mary’s directions had been nonspecific at best, but Zarah found that she didn’t actually seem to need much more than what she’d been given. With the vague descriptions pointing her in the right direction, she found that she simply _knew _with an ironclad certainty which of the specific options was the correct one. She hadn’t even had to think before picking out the correct track to walk down, and she knew that the hatch was coming up on her left-hand side.

“Z.” Kihri’s voice was cautious, and a little tense. “You’re doing it again.”

“Hm?” Zarah glanced down, and realised that the glow of the blacklight around her hand had grown more intense than the rest. “Oh, yes. Thank you.”

With a spot of concentration, the half-formed ghostlight she’d been unconsciously gathering dissipated outwards, returning to wherever it came from in the first place. For whatever reason, while her ghostlight was still difficult to manifest under normal circumstances, it formed surprisingly easily _inside _her body, to the point where she often found herself doing so unconsciously.

(More than a few times, that discovery had come in the form of her hand abruptly exploding into viscera as soon as something startled her).

Before they’d even exited the maintenance hatch onto the second track, Zarah could already tell that Mary had been telling the truth. The air had grown heavy and thick – not oppressively so, but noticeable all the same, and it only grew stronger as they drew closer to the platform. The texture of it was slightly different to what they’d experienced from Remy on that rooftop, as well; if Zarah had to put it into words, she’d have described it as almost being slightly stale. As if it had been soaked into the surrounds some time ago, and then left to grow stagnant.

“Oh,” Kihri murmured quietly, “I am _not _a fan of this.” She descended into the floor, but almost immediately came shooting back out, gagging. “Okay, nope, nope, it’s _way _worse in there. God, what was she _doing _here?”

“<We don’t know that this was Metzin, necessarily.>”

“Sure,” Kihri replied, rolling her eyes, “and maybe if we walked into a police station, they’d give us a hearty clap on the back and a medal. It’s _absolutely_ gonna be Metzin, dude.”

Zarah silently conceded the point.

The oppressive feeling only grew worse as they approached the platform. Zarah slowly tuned down the intensity of the blacklight, letting her eyes adjust, until it was only the faintest of glows.

“You hear that?” Kihri whispered.

“Hear what?”

“I’ll take that as a no, then. Just- stop for a second? _Listen._”

They were still about ten meters from the tracks, so Zarah did as instructed, closing her eyes and tilting her head to the side. She could hear the very faint rumbling of traffic above them, a barely-there hum from whatever power lines ran through the concrete around them, the whirring of a ventilation fan in the distance, the sound of her own body breathing and pumping blood…

Just as she was about to call it quits, something tickled at the very edge of her hearing, so faint she’d almost thought she’d imagined it. Once she was aware of it, though, it became clearer, like a blurry image coming into focus, and resolved itself into… into…

“…what _is _that?” Zarah whispered.

“I _know, _right? Sounds like… someone vomiting in reverse.”

The worst part was, that was actually fairly accurate.

Slowly, they began advancing down towards the platform. The noise grew louder, and separated itself into multiple iterations of the same sound, which solidified it in Zarah’s mind as being something… _biological. _Like breathing, if breathing was nausea-inducing. She couldn’t pinpoint the exact number, but her instinctive guess was around a dozen. 

As they drew closer, other noises began to join the soundscape as well – rustling, dull impacts, the occasional small crash. 

“Kihri,” she whispered, “can you scout ahead?”

“Nuh uh,” Kihri replied, shaking her head fervently. “The only reason I haven’t already bolted is ‘cause of that gross shit. Scout yourself, jerk.”

Zarah had a reply all lined up, but their argument was cut short by a dull _thud _from up ahead, much closer than any of the previous noises. 

Both of them froze.

After a second, that reverse-breathing noise came from the same direction, along with the clear sounds of something walking towards them.

Zarah’s hand slipped into her raincoat, and she began gathering ghostlight, only moments before the source of the noises moved into the light.

Her first thought was of Lucel, Orae’s ghostly hound. The more she looked at it, though, the more the differences became apparent. Both were about the same size and quadrupedal, but Lucel was only differentiated from a normal dog by her ghostly aspect – when she interacted with the world, it was through the ghostlight armour that Orae created for her.

The thing in front of her was fully real, and was about as far from a normal anything as it was possible to be. Red ghostlight and flesh intermingled freely to create its body – in some places, the ghostlight had taken on the bulbous, organic form of tumorous flesh; in others, flesh had become smooth and geometric like ghostlight. 

Two things that might, in some other life, have been tusks stuck out the front of its head – if that was what the part of the creature that was facing them even was. One eye was completely covered with the ‘growths’ of ghostlight, but the other was small, black and beady, darting around frantically with a glassy cast to it.

Some thick, viscous liquid dripped from its sagging maw, jagged teeth barely recognisable as such, and with every distorted exhalation, flecks of the liquid sprayed the ground in front of it, foaming oddly where they hit the metal and concrete.

Zarah very carefully and deliberately did _absolutely nothing_.

The beast’s gaze passed right over her as it turned its head back and forth, panting heavily and occasionally twitching.

“Zaaaaraaaaahhh,” Kihri whispered nervously, exaggeratedly slow. “Whyyyyy aren’t you _runniiiiing_?”

Zarah didn’t even dare to open her mouth to answer. It didn’t seem to have functioning eyesight – if she just stayed completely still, maybe it would just move away on its own. As long as she didn’t move, didn’t talk, didn’t _breath-_

She wasn’t breathing. 

_She wasn’t breathing. _

A panicked, desperate inhalation ripped through the air as Zarah took a sudden, desperate gasp of air. She immediately froze again, realising her mistake, but it was too late; the chimera’s head swivelled towards the source of the sound. 

“Well,” Kihri said fatalistically, “you tried.”

The chimera leapt towards Zarah with a distorted snarl, and she cursed as she stumbled backwards, one hand still inside her raincoat. Two twisted front limbs caught her in the chest as the beast drove her to the ground, trapping that arm up against her torso. 

She landed half on top of the train tracks, the metal driving into her back in a way that felt like it would’ve been debilitating without blacklight to cushion the impact. It was _heavy_, too; she didn’t exactly have much experience in the matter, but the weight crushing her chest felt much heavier than she’d have expected based on its size. 

Also, _ow._

Something in her chest felt like it was cracking, splintering into her organs. As the chimera’s head descended down towards her, more of its weight was put on those front limbs, and by extension her chest. That time, something _definitely _cracked, and a silent cry of pain slipped from her lips. 

The gaping maw was just above her face now, strangely scentless as the jagged teeth gnashed together, spraying her face with that strange spittle. She felt it burn and sizzle against her skin where the droplets landed, and gritted her teeth to hold back the noise of pain that tried to escape her throat. Not that it would’ve been audible anyway, what with all the snapping and growling.

Zarah managed to get her free arm up, holding the chimera off of her with her forearm braced across its throat. It spat and snarled at her, scattering more of that acidic saliva over her face and neck, and tried to scratch at her face with one of its forelegs. The movement took some of the weight off her chest, though, and she was finally able to slip that hand free – and with it, a dull red shard of ghostlight.

Slightly shorter than her forearm, and only two inches across at its widest point, it was roughly the shape of an elongated, unbalanced diamond, with edges like the spiderweb fracturing of glass. Tape had been wrapped around the shorter end, to save her from cutting herself on the jagged edges that didn’t ever seem to go dull, turning it into a makeshift handle, with a helpfully placed ridge that stopped her hand from sliding down onto the blade.

With her ghostlight too difficult to be reliable and her hammer- 

With her hammer _gone_, this last, shattered piece of it was the closest thing to a weapon she had.

“<Sorry>,” Zarah whispered, then buried it in one of the fleshy portions of the chimera’s flank. It screeched in pain, hollow and unnatural and piercing, and she managed to get enough leverage to toss it off of her. It landed on its side as she scrambled to her hands and knees, and continued to scream as it tried and failed to get back onto its own feet. 

More horrifying than the sound, though, was the chorus of responses that came from the platform up ahead. Two, four, six, then too many too keep track of.

“Run?” Kihri asked, turning to face her sister.

“Run,” is what Zarah _would _have said, if she hadn’t already been halfway back to the hatch and sprinting like her life depended on it.

She dropped into a slide just before the hatch, slipping down through the hole and using the handle on the cover to steady herself. Kihri shot down past her a second later, just slipping through as Zarah’s weight pulled the thick metal cover closed behind them. Without missing a beat, Zarah grabbed the empty slot intended for padlocks and twisted it into a mangled mess of metal.

A moment later, the entire hatch started rattling violently as multiple heavy impacts slammed against it from the other side, accompanied by the same chorus of screeching as before. Thankfully, the metal showed no signs of breaking, and after about a minute, the assault started to die down. 

“Well,” Kihri said, once it seemed like the last of the chimeras had lost interest, “that was… uniquely horrifying.”

“Wish we were wrong,” Zarah said sourly, slumping against the wall. “_One_ _time_, I wish we were wrong.”

“Yeah, it’s hard being this cool and smart,” Kihri agreed. 

Zarah chuckled weakly at that, but her attempt at good cheer didn’t last very long. 

“I _really _do not want to be eaten to death by pigs. So much worse than regular death.”

“Smartest thing you’ve said all day,” Kihri agreed. “Which means…?”

Zarah groaned, letting her head fall back to rest against the wall behind her.

“C’mon, Z,” Kihri said with a sigh. “You know it’s the obviously correct thing to do here”

“<Doesn’t mean I have to _like _it,>” Zarah said sourly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> decided to put this one up a few days early considering how long its been since the last one. unfortunately thats probably not going to change any time soon, writing is still Hard, so thank you for your patience.


	27. Being For The Benefit Of Mr. Kite

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> (in which five heads are better than two)

“So, what have you guys been up to?”

“Remy,” Orae growled as they flipped one of the chimera corpses over with a grunt of effort, “do you really think _now _is the time for this conversation?” They crouched, and with another exhalation, flipped it in the same direction, moving it in the most cumbersome example of barrel-rolling Zarah had ever seen.

“Sure, why not!” Remy, by contrast, was carting the corpses two at a time, one slung casually over each shoulder. “We’re all here, this doesn’t take much concentration, there’s nobody else around – it’s perfect!”

“…I hate-” Orae grunted, “-that you have a point.”

In the end, there had been about three dozen of the chimeras – all mostly with the same hybridisation of flesh and ghostlight, although the individual manner and appearance was slightly different for each one. 

Putting them down had been unpleasant, to say the least, but Zarah had found Orae’s suggestion to think of it as putting them out of their misery helpful. With three of them, and Remy’s bizarre indestructibility, it hadn’t been much trouble at all – it had almost been easier than convincing Remy to put his shirt back on afterwards. He’d taken it off when Zarah had mentioned the seemingly-acidic saliva, which was understandable considering their plan had basically consisted of ‘let the chimeras use Remy as a chew toy while Zarah and Orae picked them off’ . 

Less understandable was his insistence on keeping it off afterwards, and his repeated insistence that there was “just a sort of tits-out energy” was entirely unhelpful. Orae had eventually been successful by threatening to rub the shirt in question through all of the corpses unless he clothed himself; they’d had to suffer through five minutes of moaning about being victimised until his attention span ran out, but Zarah was starting to learn to tune him out anyway.

She set down the corpse she was carrying on top of the pile of others, planted her hands on her lower back and stretched out with a grunt. Thankfully, whatever had been done to the animals (pigs, it seemed fairly likely by this point), it had significantly reduced the amount of bodily fluids leaking out of them. They still bled, but it was thick and viscous, closer in colour to… cherries, or wine, or something. According to Kihri, it indicated an extreme lack of oxygen.

“So, Z!” Remy said, dropping his two corpses next to hers with a meaty _thud_. “Do anything fun recently?”

“Nope.”

“Okay! Do anything _not _fun?”

Zarah brushed off her hands on her pants, and glanced at him. “Well, I killed a lot of pig monsters. And also Kihri is making me learn language lessons. I prefer the pigs.”

Remy nodded. “Great recap. Loving it. Anything to add, Kihri?”

And _that _was still extremely weird. 

Objectively, it was a good thing that Remy unquestioningly accepted Kihri’s existence. Just having someone else for her to talk to, who didn’t question it, was a relief. Obviously it was. 

But after eight years of being the only one who did, it felt _weird. _Uncomfortable.

To Zarah, at least. 

“Oh ho ho, do I ever,” Kihri said, swooping down with a grin. “_First _of all, what little miss boring here forget to mention is that she’s been out running around on rooftops in that stupid raincoat looking for shit like this.”

“Kihri,” Zarah growled. “<I didn’t say that for a reason>.” Now that she’d agreed to take improving her Brechtin more seriously, Kihri had gotten more lenient about speaking in it all the time, on both their parts.

“<Yeah, and I ignored that because it’s stupid>,” Kihri shot back. “<If you’re _actually _serious about wanting to help, then you don’t get to censor and edit what I say>.”

Maybe that was part of why it felt so weird. Remy might have believed in Kihri’s existence, but Zarah still had to pass on anything she said, and it made her feel like she was being… replaced? She didn’t know _what _it made her feel (when did she ever?) but it definitely wasn’t pleasant, and it _definitely _wasn’t fair to Kihri.

Pushing all those feelings back into their box, she repeated Kihri’s words out loud, making an effort to imitate her tone and cadence. At first, the two of them had conspired to have her put a finger on her nose whenever she was speaking ‘for’ her sister, but she’d stood her ground on that one. Because it was stupid.

Personally, she thought that it would’ve been evident enough from the difference in their speech patterns, but in the end they’d compromised on just holding up a single finger – seeing as Zarah didn’t speak with her hands the same way Kihri did, it was fairly distinct.

“Really?” Remy asked, perking up. “That’s cool! Why didn’t you invite us? We could have made a thing out of it, hang-out time with the buds!”

“There are-” Orae grunted as they finally reached the pile, “-_so _many things that I hate about that sentence that I don’t even know where to start.”

“The beginning?” Zarah suggested despite herself.

Orae gave a little sour grin. “Then, _no, _you airheaded sack of naivety, it is not ‘cool’. Vyas didn’t invite us because she knew it was a stupid thing to be doing, and for the _last _time, we are _not. Buds._”

“Aww,” Remy grinned. “You know you love us.”

Zarah had received the first group text from Remy two days after they’d parted ways, and since then he’d not missed a single one, sending multiple messages per day to herself and Orae (despite the fact that, as it quickly became clear, the two of them were still living in the same space, and could easily talk in person).

Zarah had absolutely no intention of replying, except for the fact that the messages were addressed to Kihri as often as they were to her. And Kihri, of course, had no compunctions against answering – she’d practically _leapt _at the offer of friendship, leaving Zarah to act as the typist for every one of her inane texts about television programs, novels, and practically every other subject on the planet.

Orae had, as of yet, not responded to a single message.

They _also_, despite their ceaseless complaining and grousing on the few occasions the three (four) of them had met in person, hadn’t actually forced Remy to find his own accommodations. Zarah wasn’t sure why not, considering they seemed actively repulsed by his very presence, but she’d just chalked it up to another one of those complicated social things that always went over her head.

“Not only do I not _love _you,” Orae snapped, providing a prime example right on cue, “I don’t even _like _you. At least Vyas is _tolerable, _insanity aside.”

Oh, and they still believed Kihri to be nothing but a trauma-fueled figment of Zarah’s imagination.

Just for that comment, Zarah decided to step in. “Why do you not kick him out, then?”

Orae scowled at her, mumbled something incoherent, and stalked away.

“Ha! Nice, Z!” Remy raised one hand, and Zarah couldn’t help but raise her own and clap them softly together with a slight smile.

Even with their back turned, Orae’s scoff was still easily audible.

They made their way back to the tracks, near where Lucel patiently ‘guarded’ their escape route. (To Zarah, it seemed fairly obvious that Orae had just wanted to keep their dog away from the carnage, but she was starting to learn that it was just easier to let things like that go by unquestioned). Despite their clothes being of significantly finer quality than Remy or Zarah’s, they had shown a complete lack of interest in preserving them. Their dark red shirt was spotted and splotched with blood and fluids, the cuffs practically soaked through due to them having not even bothered to roll up the sleeves. Removing the jacket seemed to be purely a concession to mobility, and not one they were particularly happy about.

They dropped down off the edge of the platform, and a second later, another chimera corpse came flying up over the edge, accompanied by a loud grunt of effort and a happy _whuff _from Lucel.

“Are there many left?” Remy called out as Orae clambered back up.

“Why don’t you- _find out,_” they huffed, getting to their feet, “instead of standing around with a finger up your asses!”

Kihri zipped up to the ceiling, peering over the lip of the platform. “Only three,” she said, which Zarah passed on to Remy.

“Okay, sweet!” He clapped, excited. “I’ll get those, then. Zarah, you should go and have a poke around! See if anything jumps out.”

“Sure,” she said with a shrug. “Kihri?”

“Actually, you know what?” she asked. “I actually think I’m going to keep helping with the _manual labour_.”

“<No need to be snippy>,” Zarah said snippily.

Kihri merely blew a raspberry in response.

Judging by the design, the subway station had been constructed three or four decades ago, and had never seen active use or even been completed. The tracks probably connected to in-use ones at some point, but no trains ran past the platform. The exits must have been connected to the surface at some point, but after a few meters of stairs, they had been bricked up. The fire stairs had been removed entirely, and when Zarah had cast a light up to the top, they’d just barely been able to spot a similarly-sealed doorway at the top.

Back down on the platform itself, ticket counters and offices sat fully constructed but empty of their animating force or any of the features necessary to actually function. The only future remaining was the kind that was built into the structure or bolted down, and although the doors had locks, they were all missing their glass, which made the whole thing a bit moot.

It was in one of these abandoned rooms that Metzin had established her makeshift laboratory.

There were obviously no lights still functioning, and so Zarah flared her blacklight as she stepped inside, pulling the collar of her sweatshirt up over her nose to help with the smell. The blood was mostly old and thoroughly dried out – but not _that _old, either. She was no expert, but with the amount of time the stains indicated, it was entirely possible that this had been the site Metzin had been using when they’d found the one underneath the power station in the park. It certainly gave the impression of being abandoned in a hurry – while there were no more ghostlight tools lying around (and Zarah had no idea how to feel about _that_), it seemed like a few folders and other materials had been overlooked and left behind. At the very least, they’d found torn and faded papers as part of a makeshift nest, text too faded and smudged to be readable.

“You take that side,” Kihri said, zipping over to the right-hand end of the room. “I’ll do this end.”

Zarah nodded. “Can you see?”

“Mm…” Kihri dipped out of sight for a moment. “Lil’ brighter?”

Zarah obliged her, and got a thumbs-up in response.

Her end of the room was closer to the train tracks, and actually had a window facing out towards them – not just a window, she realised as she got closer, but an actual ticket counter as well. The entire partition was sealed over with a corrugated metal shutter, but it would have faced outwards towards the tracks under normal circumstances.

Desks and cabinets were built into the structure of the room, and Zarah crouched down and started searching through them, pulling drawers entirely free and snapping locks where necessary. Most of them were entirely empty, with a few scraps of miscellaneous paper here and there, but one actually contained an old, clunky measuring tape that she assumed had been left there by a builder.

A quick second pass didn’t reveal any hidden compartments (not that she’d been expecting any), and so she turned to the filing cabinets placed along the next wall. Some were locked, which gave her a little glimmer of hope for a moment, but when she tore them open, they were empty anyway. Why they’d been locked, she couldn’t picture-

-until she did the same thing to a drawer that seemed exactly the same as the others, only to find papers inside.

She contained her excitement as she pulled them out – they could have been left behind by the builders.

“Kihri,” she called out as she pulled the file folders out, lugging the entire lot over to the table. “Found something, maybe.”

In a blur of motion, Kihri was at her side as she dumped her find out onto the faded linoleum. “What does ‘maybe’ mean in this context?”

“<Could’ve been left by the builders> maybe.” She started pulling pages out of folders and spreading them out, text facing upwards. She didn’t even bother trying to read them – that was Kihri’s job. Her sister floated horizontally above the table, one eyes on her chin as she scanned the documents Zarah set out.

“Okay, some of these are definitely unrelated. _But. _I’m seeing a lot of different stuff here all mixed together with no real organisation, so I’m thinking…” Zarah paused, waiting for her to finish the thought, but Kihri gestured her on. “Keep going for now. Might be nothing.”

After another two minutes of separating papers and spreading them out, Zarah was starting to think that this was going to be another dead-end after all.

“Freeze.”

Or maybe not.

“Which?” Zarah asked, obligingly frozen as Kihri dipped closer in towards the pages she’d just set out.

“These two.” She tapped a single piece of paper, with some kind of letterhead at the top.

“Only one there.” Even as she said it, though, Zarah could see the edges of a second piece of paper, ever-so-slightly out of alignment with the first page. “Or- hm.”

“Yeah, it’s like I know what I’m talking about or something.”

After a bit of fiddling, Zarah managed to separate the two pages. The page underneath was slightly smudged – it seemed like the ink hadn’t set properly, and had stuck the two together. It was mostly illegible, but bore no page numbers or official headers like the other documents.

“Okay…” Kihri hummed as Zarah held it up to the light for her to examine. “The seventh attempt… yielded? Then… couple lines down, secondary enclosure… I think this says ‘exsanguinate’?”

“Not construction papers then?”

“Not unless they were adding blood to the concrete, nope. That’s what exsanguination means, by the way – ‘ex’ is out of or away, ‘sanguine’ is a reddish brown colour that used to refer to blood specifically-”

“This is something?” Zarah interrupted, cutting off the explanation.

“This is something,” Kihri confirmed, not seeming all that bothered by the interruption. It was a good sign – she was generally at her most amenable when something had her attention or interest. “At the very least, I’m _fairly _certain it means that there’s some of Metzin’s stuff in here, and she was using miscellaneous scrap documents to hide them amidst. God knows _why_, it must’ve been a pain in the ass, and if someone’s already found this place then it’s not like the gig isn’t already up.”

“<Might be for this exact scenario>,” Zarah speculated. “<She seems twisty enough for that>.”

Kihri made a face. “Ugh. That would be just like her, huh. Anyway, keep sorting, gopher! Yip yip!”

“<You know I could just> leave, right? <I don’t have to listen to you>.”

“…yip yip, _please?_”

Zarah sighed, and yip yip-ed.

Their continued efforts revealed a few more smudged pages, stuck to others in a similar manner to the first one. Whatever method had been used to print them, it was clearly a faulty one. Kihri got a few more words from each, but nothing that added up to a complete picture or coherent sentence. Just more of the pseudo-clinical, cold language, the same as the other notes of hers they’d found. The same way she spoke, as well.

The fifth page they found, however, was entirely intact.

“Don’t,” Kihri said as Zarah leant over to try and read it, inserting herself into Zarah’s eyeline in front of the page. “Seriously, don’t.”

“Why?” Zarah asked, suspicious.

“It’s not- I’m not hiding anything from you, I promise. I just… you’ve seen enough, y’know? We don’t _both _need to see it all, as long as one of us has, and… you’ve seen enough.”

“<…is it that bad?>”

“<…there are pictures>.”

Silently, Zarah reached over and flipped the page face-down. “…<thanks>.”

“Welcome.” And then, because even when being kind she was still fundamentally _Kihri_; “Gotta look out for my _baby _sister.”

Zarah scoffed. “Shut up. Two hours, baby, nothing.”

“Two hours is two hours, _lil’ sis._”

“<Keep telling yourself that>.”

“Actually, wait,” Kihri said as Zarah went to place the next one, “go back, flip it back over.”

“Do I look, not do I look, which is it?” Zarah muttered as she did so.

“Don’t look, asshole, I just need to check something.” Kihri spent a few seconds hovered above the page, humming quietly to herself, then darted over to the filing cabinets, scanning their fronts.

“Light?” she asked, and Zarah walked closer. “Ta. I’m thinking… hm.” She stopped in front of one of the empty drawers that Zarah had already opened. “Come here, I need you to check this one.”

Zarah gestured at the open, empty compartment. “Already did check.”

“Yeah, but do it proper this time. Get, y’know elbow-deep? Reach down back, check the sides?”

It was a bit of an awkward angle to get her arm in past the extended drawer, so Zarah just ripped it free and tossed it to one side, ignoring the disapproving look from Kihri.

There was nothing at the back of the now-empty compartment, nothing on the side or under the remains of the slide mechanism, or in the space above where the drawer sat-

Her hand brushed against something, and she jerked it back, banging her elbow on the edge of the cabinet.

She swore, shaking out the pins and needles while Kihri laughed, and reached back in, feeling around until she found the paper she’d touched. It was a long cylinder, tucked diagonally into the empty space above the drawer, and it took a bit of finagling to get it out without crumpling or tearing it. Zarah stood, slipping off the rubber bands that held it rolled up, and walked back over to the table with Kihri hovering eagerly over her shoulder, where she unfurled it to reveal a map of Kaila.

Zarah ripped a few handfuls of concrete out of the floor and placed them on each corner, holding the map back from rolling itself back up the way it clearly wanted to, then bent over the table, taking in what they were seeing. Kihri hovered opposite her, elbows propped up on nothing.

It seemed to have originated as a digital mapping service – there were no details or depth, just blocks of greys and greens with simple, printed labels. Red circles dotted the map, each about the size of a coin and labelled with a variety of symbols. At first glance, there wasn’t any sort of pattern to their placement, save that none were placed too close to any others – Zarah almost thought she could eyeball the minimum distance, if she were so inclined.

“Ooh ho ho,” Kihri cackled, clapping her hands together soundlessly. “Oh, Yanis, baby, you _fucked up!_ You fucked up _real good!_”

While Kihri gloated, Zarah traced lines between the different circles, trying to spot any connection between the different symbols. “<What do you think this is?>”

“_This_ – and this is just speculation, mind you – this looks like a map of _all _the locations she was using for her experiments.”

Zarah blinked. “…wow.”

“Wow _indeed_. Look, there.” Zarah followed the line of her finger to one of the circles. “Based on the tunnels we had to move through to get here, I’m guessing that this is where we are right now.”

Zarah tried to map it out in her head. She hadn’t been paying as much attention as Kihri to their movements through the subway tunnels – or any attention at all – but the circle _did _seem to not quite line up with any of the individual buildings. “She has this many?”

“Yep. Wait… nope. Might just be… potential sites, actually. Hm.”

“<Is that a guess or a _guess_>?”

Kihri sighed. “…not sure. Probably the latter, but it’s not like I can really _tell, _is it?”

“…sorry.”

“Mm.” She waved a hand. “Doesn’t matter much now, anyway. Logically, though, I can’t see her actually managing to keep up all of these at the same time, so either it’s a map of _past _ones, potential future ones, or some combination…” She trailed off, chewing on her lip. “Okay, wait. _This_,” she said, reaching down and tapping one of the circles, control precise enough that her finger didn’t intersect with the map in the slightest, “this is the substation.”

Sure enough, the circle was in the middle of a small patch of green on the map.

“So between the two of these… we can assume that one of these two symbols,” and she pointed to two of the small shapes next to both circles, “has something to do with the type of experiments she was running. Human tests there, animals here…”

“Human tests?” Zarah turned to find Orae stepping into the room, Remy just behind them. “The power station you found?”

Zarah nodded. “<Kihri, can you…>?”

“Hm? Oh yeah, sure.”

She gave a quick explanation of what they’d found, which Zarah repeated, then tacked on to the end; “and what happened with you?”

Orae’s shirt was still smoldering in places, random tracks of singed and burned fabric traced up their sleeves and across their torso. The smell was powerful enough to override the strange, sharp scent of the chimera blood, winding up into Zarah’s nostrils and refusing to leave.

“Oh, that’s great news!” Remy said cheerily. “Turns out that spit stuff is… flammable? Inflammable? Whichever one means it catches on fire.”

Zarah connected the dots. “And they tried to have a smoke.”

Remy grinned. “And they tried to have a smoke,” he confirmed.

“Oh, yes,” Orae muttered with a scowl, “_laugh _it up, arseholes. Not like I was _set on fire _or anything.”

“Hey,” Zarah pointed out. “Shirt was already ruined.”

“…is that supposed to make me feel better?”

She smirked. “No. Just funny.”

“You know I’m all about the banter normally,” Kihri said distractedly, “but I need your hands, Z. Think I’ve almost got something here.”

As the others gathered around, she directed Zarah to start taking notes on the back of one of the scrap papers, assembling a list of the different symbols on the map.

“Can’t keep track of them all in my head,” she murmured absently in explanation. “Would be better if I had a computer, some maps…”

“Hey, quick question,” Remy said.

“Don’t distract me,” Kihri said (via Zarah).

“Really quick?”

“Auclair,” Orae snapped, “if you just _asked _we’d be done by now.”

“Both of you _shut up,_” Kihri snapped.

“Good point, Orae!” Remy continued, undeterred. “Why, exactly, can’t we just take the map with us and do this later?”

“Because,” Kihri snapped without looking in his direction, but then slowly came to a stop. “Because… I hadn’t… thought of that?”

Zarah sighed, rubbing her forehead.

“You know,” Orae observed, “it really is _insufferable _that he’s actually right sometimes. Means I can’t actually justify just ignoring him entirely.”

“You’re _wel~come_,” Remy trilled, sugar-sweet.

“Yes or no?” Zarah asked Kihri, who was still staring down at the map, hands pressed together in front of her mouth.

“…can you pretend I had some really good reason for not doing that?” Kihri asked in response.

“<And what do I get out of that>?”

“The love and adoration of your dear sister, who you care for so very much?”

Zarah couldn’t help but smirk slightly. “<Sure, because that and a goat gets you a dowry. Really _sell _me on this>.”

“I hate you.”

“<That’s your version of selling me on this? I expected better of you>.”

“…One hour.”

“One hour?”

“…one hour, guaranteed, of absolute silence, that you can call in whenever we’re not in active danger.”

Zarah turned to the others. “She was not doing that because she had to… Kihri, slow down. No, _slow down, _I cannot keep up with the explanation. You _normally _talk slower and you know it-” She threw up her hands in frustration. “Just _say _<does that work>?”

Kihri looked at her, with an expression that looked an awful like shock. “…yeah, that’ll do.”

Zarah turned back to the others, a ‘what can you do’ expression on her face, which they accepted completely without suspicion

“…that’s fucking _scary_,” Kihri muttered. “You’re fucking scary.”

“<If you don’t want me doing that>,” Zarah shot back, “<you shouldn’t have made it so plausible>.”

“God, you’re so _annoying _when you’re right.”

“If you’re _done?_” Orae asked icily. “Can we take it or _not_?”

“We can,” Zarah confirmed.

“Bloody _fantastic._” They stalked past her and started pulling off the weights so they could roll up the map. “Let’s get out of this fucking pit, then. If I spend much longer in these clothes I’m going to get a skin condition.”

“The corpses,” Zarah pointed out. “Can we just leave them?”

“We absolutely bloody can.”

Zarah sighed, rolling her eyes. “No, fine. _Should _we?”

“We _absolutely_-”

“We will not,” Zarah cut them off flatly. “No negotiation.”

“Right, because you have authority here. Oh, _wait_.”

Remy clapped a hand down on Orae’s shoulder, making them flinch. “I could throw you through a wall, if it’d help?” he offered, completely sincere. “Y’know, so you have an excuse.”

“Zarah,” Kihri said, “would you high-five him for me?”

Zarah ignored her.

“Fine,” Orae snapped, shaking Remy’s hand off. “What do _you _suggest we do, then? Dig a hole in the concrete and bury them?”

_That’s… not actually that bad an idea. _“Open to suggestions,” she said instead of voicing the thought. _Save that as a Plan B. _

Remy looked down at the singed portions of Orae’s clothing, and his face lit up.

“What?” they asked, glancing down. “Do I- oh. Oh _no. _Absolutely _not_.”

“Everyone,” Remy announced, “I have come up with a _brilliant plan_, that will absolutely not backfire or go wrong in _any _way whatsoever.”

“Great choice of words there,” Kihri noted. “You know, because. Fire.”

“For all we know,” Orae said, “they might _combust _and collapse this entire structure!”

“Honestly,” Kihri said, “that sounds pretty ideal? Bury all this shit for good.”

Zarah _definitely _agreed with that.

“Oh? The part where we’re buried under here too? Is that part _ideal _as well_?_”

“So we set a trail. Like gunpowder in an old cartoon, yknow? Set it off, book it down the tunnel, easy peasy.”

“Cartoons,” Orae said flatly. “Our plan is based on _cartoons_, now.”

“Cartoons are based on reality you- and I am not repeating that word.”

“I’m being silenced!”

“Vyas,” Orae said to Zarah, “your plan is _idiotic.”_

“Not my plan,” Zarah said.

“Up _here_, asshole,” Kihri snapped at the same time.  
Orae very clearly rolled their eyes behind their glasses. “Fine. Your imaginary dead sister’s plan is _idiotic_. Happy?”

“Zarah, kick them in the shin for me.”

“Not kicking any person for you.”

“Damn _right _you’re not,” Orae snapped. “I’ll rip your fucking throat out, you little-”, at the same time as Kihri started yelling something about ‘shoving their little baby feet so far up their own ass that they’d kick their own teeth in’-

Zarah’s phone buzzed.

The argument cut out, both parties turning to look at her.

Her phone buzzed again.

“You’re actually getting signal down here?” Remy asked as she pulled it out of her pocket and checked the ID.

“Apparently.” She held up one finger as she lifted the phone to her ear. “Mm?”

“Zarah, hi,” Mrs. B’s voice came through. “Is this a bad time?”

She looked at the scene in front of her; at Orae’s singed clothing and Remy’s gore-splattered hands. “I can talk,” she said.

“Oh, good,” Mrs. B. replied, unaware of Orae rolling their eyes. “It’s really not important, but I just thought I’d check – is it peanuts or walnuts you don’t like?”

“Ah- walnuts? But it is not- a worry.”

A sigh of relief came through the phone’s speaker. “Thank goodness. I put peanuts in the rice, and then I couldn’t remember which one it was.”

An odd, fluttery warmth passed through Zarah’s chest. The idea that she’d remembered, and cared enough to check, despite it not being important…

It was an unfamiliar feeling, but not necessarily an uncomfortable one.

“Is this going to take much longer?” Orae demanded. “We’ve wasted enough time down here already.”

Zarah clapped one hand around the phone, a little too late. “Oh, I’m sorry,” Mrs. B. said. “Didn’t realise you had company.”

She couldn’t help but roll her eyes. “Not _company. _Just… people.”

“People people.”

“Mm-hm. Well, if those people-people like, I made plenty of extra.”

An ugly snort slipped out before Zarah could stop herself. “_Absolutely_ no.”

**Author's Note:**

> blacklight updates in ~500 word chunks on fridays at https://spectrochroma.wordpress.com/  
full chapters will be posted here the week after they finish on the site  
there's also a cast page and some bonus stuff on there if you care about that


End file.
